


And So...

by Leszre



Series: CMBYN softcore A/B/O verse [1]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: AU-modern setting, Alpha!_Elio, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Extreme Slow Burn: Sloth-level, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Not Beta Read, Omega!_Oliver
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-01 06:49:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 26,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16760086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leszre/pseuds/Leszre
Summary: .post-husbandary version: as ofDec 15, 2018.my take on "what ifthe CMBYN was A/B/O-verse".It starts with 8 years later, in New York, Elio bumps into Oliver by chance..---------------------------------•Rating: first 10 = T, then M, T, then E? E?! & G bonus,•Slash: Movie-verse + Book-verse,•Con-crits welcome: but I plea thee to be ever so kind and gentle,•trope compliant butsoft-coreA/B/O-verse..My Request: though I don’t foresee this from ever happening,please ask meif you, in any way, feel that this drabble is worthy of being shared in any platform other than AO3.





	1. Prologue. A Long Paused Button

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eight years later, by a pure chance, Elio walks into Oliver.

####  **Prologue. A long paused button**

**present day | New York | at the end of Spring | Elio POV**

“Oof”

Busying myself to shoulder-pass through the crowd of patron, it didn’t even occur to me to pay attention below the counter level. My hands reach forward automatically, getting hold of the warmth that rushed over me. The little girl sways a bit but doesn’t lose the balance.

“are you alright?” I ask looking down.

“I’m sorry,” says the giant bright hazel eyes, with a barely-there maroon circle just outside the iris: an alpha. She looks up with bunched up eyebrows, a genuine apology, her hands a little damp.

“It’s okay, are you with your parents?” I ask her calmly.

Before I had a chance to properly tend to this young lady, a woman bumps into me. A price I pay for stepping into a small local coffee bar. The review was right: Very popular _and_ crowded. When the woman turns around to apologize, “(I’m sorry),” then she changes quickly into coos, “awww--, (beautiful little butterfly, You must be very proud!)” says warmly.

Dumbfounded, I open and close my mouth a couple of times, as if I lost the capacity to formulate any come-back. Before I could say anything, she just passes us to stand in the “order here” line.

 _What?!_ How did she even know I’m fluent in French? _Merde._

I turn my attention back to the little girl and I realize her little fingers are holding my last two digits.

“You said you came here with your parents?”

“Yeah.”

The little girl then goes on and tells me that this place is their favorite because of the scones and that her mother loves the Italian coffee brewed here. With a couple of missing baby teeth, she had this cute smile about her.

When I ask her where her parent is, she pivots on the balls of her feet and effortlessly swivels. A familiar scent of subtle nuttiness and a tang hit my nose. She then raises her arm and points her little fore-finger.

Following the little girl’s finger, I slowly stand up and... my heart does this abrupt free dive down towards my feet.

Eight years later, by a pure chance, there he was, at the end of the direction she is pointing, sitting in the far corner table with his nose buried in something. With the same haircut, with two top buttons opened shirt, with the Star of David.

When she turns her head, another whiff of the same scent hits my nose. An official confirmation that I am not seeing another spectral image of him, that my eyes are not playing tricks on me.

I reposition my hand to hold her hand properly and offer to walk with her to bring her to him.

The little one starts on first, tiny happy steps ahead, gently tugging at my hand.

“Mama---,” she leaps to him as she lets go of my hand when we got close.

“Yes, sweetheart,” says her mother looking down directly from what he was working on the table, “I’m very proud of you. Did you wash-,”

His gaze does this sweep from the bottom through the length of my body, finally stopping at my eye level. For a brief second, a look of utter shock comes on his face.

His hands and upper body autonomously respond to his daughter’s grip, pulling her in close to him but he doesn’t say anything, as if someone pressed a pause button on his expression. Time slows.

“Hi, Oliver,” I say to him.

His bright blue eyes are now two fully-blown black holes. Without a blink, holding my gaze, a single word escapes his parted lips.

“h..Hi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Hello** \---, my fellow CMBYN fan-fams!  
> .  
> A tiny seed of question, “there must be something that made Oliver to go and couldn’t come back to Elio.”  
> I’m NOT a writer by any means but…  
> after almost a year of typing, scrapping the whole thing, retyping, rewriting, deleting the whole file, then back again writing... (oh, yeah, I did tell you I’m not a writer by trade, right?), here is my futile attempt to defend Oliver.  
> (Also, in a very personal level, you guys can blame those AO3 writers who went into hibernation. What are the odds, all of my favorite authors unanimously – as if they arrived at unspoken agreement – went into hiatus! Yes, it is true I do not follow all 30K fandoms and all of the authors. But… Come on! *a long defeated sigh, pining* me very sad *sniffle*)  
> .  
> It’s also my attempt to not play i) “I’m-not-gay-or-bisexual” tension or plot point and ii) socially accepted definition about “right / correct” way to love cliché.  
> .  
> With that said,  
> Let me start with–––,  
>  **Thank you** for indulging your curiosity to read my drabble this far. It means a LOT. More than enough, the honest truth.  
> But!  
> If you are not into ABO trope and have any issue with different interpretations, I sincerely and humbly request that you gently click “back” button (gently because regardless of which kind, it is your device, no need to take it out on your physical property. hehe) and continue enjoying other fabulous AO3 CMBYN authors’ work, I won’t hold it against you. Cross my heart.  
> .  
> And _Please_ do keep on being a valuable part of CMBYN fandom and carry on existing in this incredible shared collective experience.  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> *shaking hands frantically as if that’ll rid my anxiety* Shall we?  
> .  
> oh! by the way, the parenthesis within the quotation marks in this chapter are used for French!  
> .


	2. Beginning of Something Unexpected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eight years or so ago... Oliver's journey to Elio begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** **Warning** **   
>  Description of groping and its emotional discomfort, internalized gender related resentment and anxiety, social class segregation.   
>  Skip the + part for the cringy worthy paragragh and look for #.

####  **Chapter 1. Beginning of Something Unexpected**

**8 years or so ago | beginning of Summer | Oliver POV**

It’s one of the worst things in my life: going through TSA. Three of them quickly flocked and huddled in front of me. _What a show._

“I've never met any government ward Omega. You must be somthin’.”

“Aren’t you too big for an omega?”

“What are you? rare bigger and taller exception?”

Living in the era where male Omegas are rare, being gawked at like this has been a part of my life as long as I can remember.

“Oh, yeah. He is an Omega alright,” said one of the pudgy TSA, “the golden ring goes well with your eyes.”

“Where? I don’t see---.”

I couldn’t help but blinking rapidly while trying not to appear rattled.

We became a rarity because of the whole propaganda about the biology since the late 80s. By design – the skeletal structure (narrower pelvic opening; meaning C-section) and under proportioned uterus (lower success rate of pregnancy, both natural and in vitro, and too frequent premature births) – male Omegas almost always require “extra” care. The mortality rate of younglings carried by male Omegas, too, is staggeringly high.

On top of that, regardless of the primary gender, most Omegas go through semi-annual heat. In early 2000s, the government mandated Omegan’s health PTO in addition to the regular ones; which are not in any way preferred by majority of employers (being private sectors, the worst).

For those small percentages of us male Omegas, we are carded off to boarding school by the age of 11. The education provided by the government is less than sufficient. Hence, many of us end up in after-dark entertainment business. Well, unless you make it in Hollywood or Broadway. We became an outlet and a vehicle of other genders’ desire.

Or those who were born into the mind-set of my parents, we are married off to a member of elitist Alphas by the age of 18. This usually means a boatload of money. An interactive collectible. Depending on the alpha (both male and female), some would go through sterilization to prevent unwanted medical cost in case of pregnancy. After the prime year, well…, a shrug.

In short, male Omegas are not worth the trouble, resources, time, and money in this Capitalist society other than serving to quench the rudimentary basic desires.

Naturally, female Omegas has been the most sought after for the past few decades.

“Step over here.”

A froggy treble of Beta TSA snapped me back to reality I was inadvertently running away from.

Now the pat down. A sharp inhale.

+

My jaw tightened automatically and the discomforting groan gurgled from the base of my throat. I caught it just in time before it escaped my lips. A hard swallow. I placed my feet aligned in two yellow foot drawn on the floor. Trying to keep my face expression as neutral as possible, I lifted my arms. One of three TSA officers gathered, a beta male, flinged his hands with palms up, just above his belly level, gesturing me to raise my arms higher. They are always quite handsy and careless with their touches. I bet some of them get off of it.

The beta male, who smelled like a bit too ripe nacho cheese, lingered his hand in my groin slightly too long and ended with an intentional sweep of his palm up the length. A devious grin. I was dead sure he’d smell his hand later away from camera. A free whiff of Omegan pheromone.

#

“Oooo---, sublingual suppressants. You must be VERY valuable for the gov’ment,” one of the other TSA teased.

A female TSA, who appeared to be in charge of this shift, shot him a look with a loud, all too apparent and deliberate single cough. He ducked his head a little with a slight twitch before he recomposed himself.

“Any other medications or supplements you need to declare?” asked beta TSA with faux professional voice, a pitch lower.

“No, sir,” I said only what I needed to say as keeping my response neutral was getting harder by the moment.

 _Breathe, Oliver_. I reminded myself. Expecting to have some privacy as a lesser gender even in this day and age in the States is a pure fantasy.

I’m two-thirds way to get my independence from the State government. After six weeks, my book will be well on its way of being published and, if things go as planned, I’ll finally free myself from the binds that held me down since I was 18. Then, I’ll...

“Next!”

“Good afternoon,” I said as politely as possible.

_Eyes down. Eyes down. Breathe._

“Doctor Omega, eh?” A thick Boston Accent.

I couldn’t help myself from letting out short nervous chuckles under my breath with an awkward smile.

“Let me scan your wrist unit. It’ll be easier,” said the immigration officer reaching his hand forward a bit.

“I appreciate it,” I raised my arm over the opening of the booth so his hand-held scanner would easily reach my wrist.

I was really grateful for this small gesture after being treated like a livestock just a few minutes ago.

This thin silicone wrist band, a smart nanochip – RFID and GPS included identification – unit, contains all and everything about me. Yes, it is a modern version of a dog tag with the fancy tech. But thanks to the technology and the Gender Freedom Act (GFA) legislation, unbonded Omegas can now live our lives with a bit more freedom. I couldn’t imagine how it would have been like before.

“Wow, you do take care of yourself. Running 5 miles daily?” asked the immigration officer. _He is definitely Bostonian_.

To an unexpected praise, I just scratched the back of my head.

“Sorry, it’s not my business,” he quickly offered at my silence after a short glance up at my face.

The officer then busied himself and started typing on the virtual keyboard. At a muffled whirring sound with a swipe of laser line, he slid in my passport in the device on his desk: a blue stamp printed on the page.

“If you ask me, we are still living backwards,” he tossed. He meant having a separate Omega passport. I wasn’t sure whether he was trying to be sympathetic, sincere, or just being political; like an uncle you see only in holidays who sit in the living room talking smack.

“It’s not only more work for little guys like me, it also gives me creeps. It’s not like that your gender population is large enough to compensate for the revenue collected for having this thing mandated,” said with a frustration laced gesture holding my Omega passport, “We are all human being, for goodness sake.”

Although I can carry on ping-pong-ing his point of view about the subject matter without breaking a sweat, I was too well aware of the time and the place. Even with my colleagues at Columbia, I steered clear of “how things should be” and stuck to my own subjects.

He then pushed his rolling desk chair, rather clandestinely, and reached to the back cabinet. He took out a folded leaflets and a business card then tucked them between the pages of my passport before handing it to me. As if it was something to be done underhand.

“Have a pleasant journey!”

With a low buzz, the partition opened with a green fluorescent light. I dipped my head as an acknowledgement and appreciation. He smiled.

As soon as I passed the threshold, I first located where my gate was. After making a mental snapshot, I swiveled on my feet quietly to find my gender bathroom. I hope I don’t look in any way rattled. _Breathe, god damn it._ I frequently choose to use the all-access ones whenever I’m in public. The good thing about the big airport was that the facilities are usually well-maintained. I peered in a couple of empty stalls, walked into the one that wasn’t littered with empty take-out drink cups and closed the latch behind me.

A long sigh. I looked down. No shake on my hands. Good.

I placed a single pill under my tongue and took out the gift Jess specially ordered, from one of compound pharmacy in Queens. A masking balm. These things were made for two specific purposes; i. neutralize Omega’s typical pheromone, and ii. general deodorant/perspiration control. We have been on and off for more than two years after I met her at one event of the activist groups. As a female alpha grew up in the project, it was surprisingly easy to become good friends with her. She didn’t treat me like the others of her gender. Alphas, I mean.

Though I protested, even open-minded alpha female herself couldn’t ward off her own gender’s typical protectiveness towards an unorthodox, rebellious omega such as me. I was surprised she didn’t put synthetic replica of her scent in this. A respect. I rolled the balm on my wrist, under my earlobes and underarms. Then, the sensation of unwanted touch came back like a surge of viscous murky wave. A cringe. _Fucking bastard_ , I hope he’s happy. With gritted teeth, I unzipped my pants and pressed generous amount on each points. I probably have to reapply once more in the air.

The check-in was easy. A swipe of my wrist band and beep. I stood far away from the waiting crowd till my boarding call.

Six weeks. I could not help myself feeling excited. A precious period of time that I’d be able to finish my manuscript and gain a good bullet point for my CV.

Professor Samuel Perlman is renowned activist and scholar/academic of this era. Because of his work, I was able to convince the national board that my skills and passion are worthy for them to make me a state-ward Omega before I turned 18. Of course, compared to other Western European countries, the fields of ancient history, philosophy and its studies have not been a strong suit in U.S., which made me a niche. I knew this before going into it and fiercely fought to take advantage of it.

My parents went completely 'gaga' because they were hoping to bond me off with a big fat contract by an elite alpha from a respectable blood line. “Too many bad breeding,” my bubba used to say. Always harping over how wonderful mother I’d be to a strapping rich Alpha because I turned out good. Even our family practitioner vetted my baby-boomer-minded father’s theory. Nice skeletal structure, balanced hormone level, well-developed secondary sex organs. Yadi dadi dah. What did she say? “a nice specimen.” _Riiiiight_.

After what seemed like forever, my turn to board signaled, on the giant screen above the gate. I stowed my carry-on overhead and clicked on my buckles; that was when I noticed the trifold brochure was about a gender equality organization and related information pamphlet about international traveling as Omegas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments are the way I get to hear your thoughts and your kudos are the balm for my unkempt soul.


	3. Yours in Mine Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Oliver meets Elio---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
> (⊙∼⊙)* Sorry, I lied---; it’s not Saturday. But, here you go, hope you like it *cheeky grin*  
> .  
> 

####  **Chapter 2. Yours in Mine Eyes**

**three days or so later (from Chapter 1) | Crema, Italy | Oliver POV**

The all-electric car ride was pleasantly comfortable. The sound of sun-baked gravel, rolling beneath, was inexplicably tantalizing. I might just put my bare-feet on them. Well, after I get settled first.

It was two, no, almost three days ago when I landed at Sicily-Palermo airport. Compared to the US customs, the Italian immigration officer was fast; almost too curt.

“err--, what is your business in Sicily?” thick Italian accent.

“Business,” I answered with a smile, “I’m meeting with my publisher.”

The immigration officer didn’t even bother to look at my paperwork. It seemed that as soon as he scanned my Omegan passport, the corresponding information must have popped up on his curved screen. After that, no more words. An electric buzz that left an entry stamp right below the laser printed US departure stamp I got less than 15 hours ago. No just-there-for-show-and-more-for-psychological-intimidation partition to be lifted. With my passport clutched in my hand, I simply walked through.

The baggage carousel spat out my check-in bag quite quickly so I was able to walk out without much wait. Thanks to clever Jess, I didn’t have to hail a cab. It was all arranged and I just needed to press ‘I’m here’ on my phone. Soon, I received a confirmation text saying the cab would be at the bay 27 in six minutes. I texted Jess, mindful of time difference, that I arrived “okay.” Also, I sent an extra line saying, “forgive me in advance for sparse comm.”

Yes, the publishing house did offer a pick-up but I couldn’t refuse Jess’s modulated yet still very alpha insistence. So the EA of my assigned editor, Bert, – short for Alberto – quipped that he would upgrade my ‘flight back to States’ to a business class, _if_ I finish my manuscript before the end of Summer. _Fat chance_ , I thought, as if the book about _Heraclitus_ was destined to be a block buster. No way in hell that would happen.

*

“(I feel sorry for your buddy down there),” said Bert when he first saw me, tipping his head down in a quick glance, “New Yorkers,” he tut-tutted.

“What’s wrong with my khakis?” I countered, smiling.

“If Canadian? I understand. You Americans. Even in this climate change, aye--,” Bert shook his head leading me into the office, “I said pack for _Italian_ Summer.” then he said something in Sicilian that I had no clue what he meant.

When I arrived at my hotel, Bert sent up some semi-formal linen garments – two dress pants, two moisture-wicking t-shirts, one single breasted waist-tapered blazer – and a pair of his old but barely worn espadrilles for me to wear. _A typical European beta_ , I shook my head though I was grateful.

After two days of crazy meetings and social events, – I should have invested in some sun screen. I now have uneven, blotchy, red sunburns from standing in the balcony under the hot Summer Italian sun – I was allowed to depart to my final destination. The Perlmans.

Bert, who took to me instantly when we met in person, grabbed every chance to make fun of me. “thick cotton shorts? Who even wears the pure cotton fabric anyway?”, “Why are they so long?” are some of the things Bert said about my just-above-knee-long cargo shorts. At the end of the very short stay, Bert arranged the Taxi ride for me, an Italian equivalent of Uber or Lyft. I wondered if this was how it would be like to have my own support staff when I’d get my full tenure.

“No, Uliva-r, you keep the shoes,” said Bert after I returned all the clothing he sent up, “(you managed to ruin it just in two days), no---, you keep,” he waved.

What made it more uncharacteristically comical was that as I was about to bid my good-bye, Bert squashed a straw hat on top of my head saying, “(now you are Italian), eh-, Signor Cargo shorts?”

*

When my ride pulled up, the curbside door popped open.

“ahh---, American,” the female driver smiled.

“Si.”

She asked whether I needed help with the luggage and I courteously waved, folding myself in after putting my duffle bag inside. When I finally buckled in, the driver said that she’d be picking someone up. I gladly agreed. It meant that I’d be splitting the fare. Sure, why not!

The dude who joined the ride was called Ricardo. Between two Italians and an American, I was able to brush off my all American Italian. The driver, especially, – “You are almost Italian, eh?” commented on my new straw hat – was full of humor and showed well-rehearsed indulgence and understanding. It was a pleasant hour ride.

As the vehicle rolled in the drive way of the gorgeous picturesque villa making the gravels rumble under, I was greeted by the Perlmans even before I got out of the cab. There he was, walking towards the slowing cab, in person. Professor Samuel Perlman, in an off-white linen shirt and dark linen slack. He was accompanied by his mate.

“Professor Perlman,” I said as I got out of the vehicle, “thank you so much for having me.”

He gave me a firm but a brief hand shake, “Ahh---, welcome,” he then gestured with open arms and said, “oh my goodness, you’re bigger than your picture,” with all the warmth and fondness.

“Well, I couldn’t fit all of me in the photo,” I offered just before bending down into the cab to get the luggage and my bag.

The Perlmans broke out into a series of short fond laughs with a wide and genuine smile on their faces.

“Hello, Mrs. Perlman.”

She was exceptionally gorgeous, even in her casual attire of light denims.

“Annella,” she answered, gently shaking my hand. Her eyes smiled with lovely creases, “you must be exhausted.”

“Ahh-, what gave me away,” I lightheartedly responded.

“Elio-!” Pro bellowed, looking up as the Perlmans led me to the house.

*

On our way in, I was introduced to the house staff, Anchise, Mafalda, and Manfredi. I probably looked like some dumbfounded giant with his mouth open like a cod fish. But no one mentioned anything or made fun of me. I was instantly mesmerized by this quintessential European charm. The inside of the villa was even more beautiful. Rustic old-century feel interior was well-preserved and maintained.

Pro was so open and quite good at humor. I guess he has been having guests like me over the summer for so long, he knew how to make people feel comfortable. I sat down on the lounger while Pro was making pre-history related humor. All three of us broke out into a light-hearted laughter as a faint minty musk tickled my nose.

Then, when Annella came back into the study, she was accompanied by him. Unruly black curls, lanky limbs, and slight hunch on his shoulders. Wearing at least a size-too-big clothes: dark red short-sleeve polo over almost 80s retro blue-psychedelic shorts.

“Every single one of these will. Elio, Oliver. Oliver, Elio” Pro introduced us.

I got up, “how you doing?”

Spearmint, something peach-sweet, but very young musk wafted up my nose. His hazel eyes made a full contact with mine. My breath hitched.

“Nice to meet you, Elio,” he punctuated his name then he let go of my hand a beat too quick.

Suddenly, my palms began to sweat.

“You must be exhausted!” said Pro in a soliloquy-style tone. His sing-songy tenor echoed back and it sound so perfect within the walls brimming with books.

“A little bit,” I said putting hands down my pant pocket.

“Come, come, come,” said Pro placing his hand on my back to lead me close to where Elio was standing. He probably was just trying to offer gentlemanly gesture to guide me exiting the room. I found myself leaning into his palm as if it was a fatherly touch I never had.

I caught myself swaying my upper body, though it was unnoticeable for other occupants in this room, as I took a step forward.

“can I bring your stuff to your room?” offered Elio looking at my two luggage.

I stammered out something like, “ah---, oo---, sure,” quickly looking down. I, again, caught myself swaying, now side to side.

 _duh fuck, Oliver?_ I chided myself.

He quickly grabbed my bags and tossed “I’ll show you to your room,” without a glance back, walking ahead.

As if the Perlmans sensed my awkwardness, Pro said, pleasantly, “follow him, our home is your home,” at the back of my head.

.

* * *

\-----------------------------------------------------

[Chapter 2. Deleted Scene]

I ended up carrying my duffle bag. I didn’t mean anything by it. I just thought… well, I didn’t want to impose. As I tried grabbing the cloth-loops, my hand brushed against Elio’s and he retracted his hand as if I burnt him.  
“Which way is to the beach?” I asked to ward off awkwardness on the way up to the stairs.  
A couple of steps ahead, he put his hand on the back of his neck. His fingers. Neatly trimmed nails. He glanced around at my question with one of his eyebrows shot up.  
Before Elio had a chance to answer, I heard light footsteps coming down and was introduced to a girl named Marzia. Two quick pecks on my cheeks, she offered. She smelled of Elio, faint but definitely him. Marzia then exchanged something in rapid French with Elio before she padded down the stairs.  
  
The room was filled with the scent of lavender and chamomile.  
“We’ll need to share the bathroom,” he began. He opened the antique double-door closet explained that this was usually his room. On my left, there were two twin beds.  
The bed.  
As soon as I saw the bed, I felt the fatigue I shoulder-nudged to the side for past few days draping heavily on my entire body.  
I plopped, and sure enough, the sheets were scented ever so lightly with lingering Spearmint and sweet-musk.  
\----------------------------------------------------

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
> To all of you who read, thank you for coming along for the ride. :)  
> Thank You!! for those who left comments, kudos, and bookmarked. Though I threw my hands up in the air when I could no longer fight the urge to post this fic, it is quite nerve wracking still.  
> .  
> Having not just one but two source materials can be a blessing and a curse. *long sigh & plop*  
> Parenthesis within quotation marks are Italian and its proper regional variation in this chapter.  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> Your comments let me know that you are actually out there and your kudos is the gentle hand stopping me from stress-fingernail biting.  
> .


	4. Wobbly First Step; away from the binds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver is SOL in trouble.

####  **Chapter 3. Wobbly First Step; away from the binds**

**Next Morning, after breakfast | Crema, Italy | Oliver POV**

_Did the immigration officer know?_

.

I know it wasn’t his job to hand me the extra travel information but I didn’t know I would actually need it.

When I finally managed to open my duffle bag, something was different. There was this printed announcement with – carelessly written, hard to make out– handwriting, indicating what was taken. All my syringes including auto-injectable suppressants were confiscated. Having no need to unpack during my brief stay in Sicily, delayed discovery of this monumental hick-up brought mixed emotions I couldn’t explain. A relief of the blissful unawareness for the sake of the formal situation and the shock of finally finding out. My innards didn’t forget to lurch and I tasted a bit of the now-acidic mushy liquid form of breakfast.

 _Bastards_. I couldn’t stop cursing under my breath.

They just arbitrarily took the “authorized” prescription medication and didn’t even alert me at the terminal.

I frantically flipped open the flimsy thin sheets, ran my finger down to find Italy hot-line number and thumbed those digits on my phone screen. The lady over the phone, with thick Italian accent, very kindly informed me where I could get the replacement. I was given a number to the clinic in M. She added though – calling me the equivalent of “poor baby” in Italian – which I didn’t take it as an offense, if my prescription was bio-mimic type, trying to find anything similar to that formula in a short notice would be near impossible. Even without being prompted, she further added that I’d refrain from shipping the supply from States, noting the different medical import rules of Italy.

/ “it requires a physician to physician coordination,” / she said in a somewhat firmer tone as if she was air quoting.

Meaning I have to go through the right channel and the time that would require to get my injectable could easily exceed the scheduled duration of six weeks. I was sure for the life-and-death related medication, regardless of its forms, the regulation probably be different.

Then she gave me numbers to adult toy stores in M, too, just in case I needed to placate myself for unwanted onset of heat. I thanked her and ended the call.

 _Great---, fan-fucking-tastic_!

The thought of letting Jess know crossed my mind when her check-in text came.

*

When I asked Pro the following day about possibly going to M., he calmly asked, “when was the last time you were in heat?”

I froze. _How did he know?_

Noticing my surprise, he added, “Oliver, it’s okay,” a warm smile, “I’m an Omega myself.”

“A gorgeous and lovely one,” Mrs. Perlman added pressing her lips on the top of his head.

“Annella, (my forever, would you give us…),” said Pro looking up.

“(of course, my love).”

“No, Mrs. P. Please stay,” I gently countered. What came over me to be that bold I may probably not understand, but her soft yet wide smile confirmed that I made the right decision.

“How…, how did you know?” I carefully asked, trying desperately to keep my tone of voice neutral.

“Ah---, (sweetness). The de-scenting spray, Oliver.”

It was a balm but I didn’t correct him.

“It was subtle but it wasn’t that difficult,” Annella cooed, “made just for you, I presume.”

Pro updated what was going on to Mrs. P. Although it was mostly Italian, it sounded like a short hand. I picked up some German and French, too. Must be their own speak.

“Oh… no…, I’m sorry,” said Mrs. P, her eyebrows bunched up in heartfelt concern.

The Perlmans carefully asked me key questions; how many sub-lingual suppressants I have in my possession, the last time I had my cutaneous shot, what the interval between the shots was, etc. Annella said assuringly that going to M would not be a problem at all but switching to different ‘–oid’ medication would only mean the side-effect rather than the intended one.

“Listen, Oliver,” Pro leaned forward placing his elbow on his knees and gently clasping his hands together. Elio’s eyes.

“I know each Omegan physiology is different but, how about adjusting the sub-lingual dosage and we play it by ear?”

“Yes, Oliver Darling,” Annella quietly nodded with a kind earnest smile, a look of a caring parent.

“We are located away from the crowd and I don’t think Annella would react unfavorably to the surge of your hormone.”

Another shock.

“Ah---, yes. Oliver. I’m an Alpha,” Annella now sat on the arm of the sofa brushing Pro’s upper arm. Pro peeled her other hand that was perched on her lap and kissed the inner palm, just above the wrist with deep adoration and reverence.

“But…,” I stammered.

I felt like I was hit by a wooden bat on the back of my head. She explained her natural iris being closed to maroon rather than brown did the trick. Even I was not an exception to the stereotypical nomenclature. I just assumed that Pro being called “papa” meant that Mrs. P gave birth to their son. Maybe it was because of my own determined stance on “I will not have my child call me ‘mother’ or in any variation of that title if I ever were to have my own pup” had to do with it.

In U.S., when female alpha younglings were born, they are mandated to go through surgical process. (*irl, similar to how circumcision is viewed and practiced widely; and sadly how majority of intersex infants’ genitals are handled.) It was only when the GFA was passed that the practiced of such violence was legally banned. Only early millennials were the first to benefit from this new era. I read about the statistical comparison of gender percentage but it was my first time of meeting fully intact mature female Alpha. The fact in itself was very intimidating. I froze.

“Not to worry, Oliver, I’m forever bonded to Samuel.”

“(my dearest).”

They shared a languid long lip kiss. Her gestures were definitely enforcing their bond.

We talked more. The Perlmans added that majority of town folks were permanently bonded or young betas. Not strangely enough, I was reassured and became quite comfortable. In the end, I was glad this discussion happened.

*

“I carried him. I insisted on bearing our child,” said Samuel as Mafalda brought out some refreshments.

“Aye--- Tesoro, Samuel. my very precious unusual Omega," she cooed, "those nine months, he was most stunning and glorious,” Annella brushed her hand on the side of Pro torso and added, “Has the most beautiful stretch marks to prove it.”

Pro just giggled quietly with an open smile like a teenager, tucking his chin to his chest gently at her touch.

“Oh, Oliver. Don’t let her sweetness fool you.” added Samuel.

Mrs. P then started on how Pro got the “Papa” designation. In the middle of the story, all three of us turned our heads simultaneously as Mafalda called out Annella’s name; someone called for Mrs. P for her art work and something about easels.

When Annella stepped out, I could tell Pro was mulling some thoughts in his head. His eyes were neutral but the air in the room began to shift.

“You see… because of how we raised Elio,” he broke the gathering staleness, perching his head on the back of his hand leaning lightly back to the back of the sofa, “he may act more like non-gender specific, Beta at best when he gets his teenage angst. But he _is_ an Alpha.”

A pause.

An antiquated yet firmly practiced UN international law states that no bonding should occur before the legal age of 18. Although majority of male Alphas get away with lesser sentence, other genders suffer severe consequences. Except for Romeo-Juliet clause, no one should dare to break this international code.

Bio-chemically, some early maturing male alphas can go into a rut before the legal age. They usually get a neutral shot to medically subdue it while still letting the board defined proper growth/development. This law was implemented after the WW II and before the Vietnam. The only purpose was to decrease the bad breeding; younglings born from yet-fully-mature parents. Because Global Health Service (GHS; of which NHS must answer to)’s studies showed pups from young parents have a higher chance of non-civilized development including psychological disorder. Hence, many developed countries codified the legal age to rut and breed so they would not have _those_ kinds in their citizen pool. Another type of carefully curated discrimination.

“Thankfully, he is able to pour his gender typical characteristics into transcribing and sitting in front of the keys for hours on end but…,” Pro trailed.

Unspoken words were clearly more powerful, although I couldn’t tell whether it was a statement of facts or a word of caution. He saw right through me and I wasn’t even here for more than 48 hours.

A slight nod, “I understand,” my lips pressed together and formed a thin line.

With an affectionate smile, Pro exhaled through his nose. Non-verbal confirmation and acknowledgement. With a tap, more like a quick slap, on his own thigh, he got up.

“Enjoy, relax, and have fun. Let the inspiration flow through you,” said Pro offering warm encouragement and gentle pat on my shoulder.

We exchanged an ear-to-ear grin as I followed him out of the study.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-----------------------------------------------  
> [the camera pulls away & scene changes to upstairs]  
> On Oliver’s pushed-together bed, a light comes on his phone. A lock screen indicating a text message from Jess. “dose adjustment suggestion”  
> \-----------------------------------------------  
> .  
> In an ideal society and if the A/B/O verse were real, the Perlmans’d be the best pairing. wouldn’t you agree?  
> .  
> A courtesan curtsy to all of you who read.  
> A Victorian bow to those who commented, kudo-ed, and bookmarked. *oh, my knees, the knees ow, ow, ow--*  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> Be a darling and let me know what you think. Your kudos is the seasonal specials from the local cafe. :)  
> .


	5. Is There Such Thing as a Pure Chance?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver’s POV of the Prologue

####  **Chapter 4. Is There Such Thing as a Pure Chance?**

**present day | New York | Cafecito | Oliver POV**

Since Wednesday, she made me promise to take her to our favorite little coffee bar this weekend. When it comes to her wishes, I could never say “no.” And I spent too much time away from her towards the end of this semester. I felt it was justifiably okay for her to be treated for her good behavior. Even though there was some administrative stuff that needed to be done since the end of a semester, I agreed to take her down to get her favorite scones. _Who said being a university professor was easy_? I bunched up the paperwork along with my tablet and shoved them down my shoulder bag.

On the way to the café, Mini jollily skipped and hummed the songs she learned.

As we passed the artfully hand-written “today’s special” chalk board, the front door was folded away as usual.

“I think we made it just in time before the brunch crowd,” I said to her, pushing the 180 degree hinge half door. She quickly turned her head and spotted an empty corner spot and exuberantly yay-ed.

We made ourselves comfortable and Tom brought out our usual order. She was all giddy seeing her favorite: the scones. Tom’s little comments like, “I saved the best one out of the oven for you,” put her in a mood for trying different types of scones without a side glance or a scrunch between her eyebrows. Today, it was Marion berries. I thanked Tom before he busied himself back behind the counter. Sure enough, as if on cue, the brunch crowd and late morning caffeine chasers swarmed.

“What are these called?” Mini asked pointing her little chubby finger near the berries.

“Marion berries.”

She tilted her head and mumbled, “mary-ong?”

“yes, pup. Mae-rhee-on, they are like cousins of blackberries.”

Immediately, I saw a light bulb coming on her face. She giggled and mouthed the syllables as I broke it down for her.

Mini learned the meaning of being independent from one of her classes and insisted that she’d go to the bathroom herself. She even turned down my offer of ‘I’ll-stand-outside-the-bathroom’ while she was there. “I’m a big girl now,” she chided, flicking her curls. I made sure to follow the back of her head as she trotted along to the counter and asked for the bathroom access fob, tipped toed herself up so she could get the key in her hand, said her thank you, then walked the rest of L shape of the café into the single person bathroom stall of the two. When the door closed behind her, I quickly busied myself trying to get some done before she returned.

A sip.

Coffee brewed here always reminded me of coffee I had in B. Frankly, I haven’t tried every possible café around NYC but, for me, it was as close as it could get to the original. Maybe Tom was from Italy? A shrug. I don’t know. One day I might ask him.

Spearmint and sweet-musk hit my nose.

“Mama---.”

*

Standing in an impeccable semi-casual black slack and a bomber jacket over a dark heather grey round neck T-shirt was –

Elio.

Even years later, I instantly recognized the lines of his neck muscles and tendons were creating. Too intimately. A thin gold chain was peering above the neck line of his shirt. He was still wearing his Star of David. _Did I even greet him?_

Mini explained what happened and invited Elio to sit with us. The exuberance of her candor and innocence threw both adults involved off our grown-up composure, plummeted it straight to the plains of a dumb-founded stasis. Elio hesitated a bit as if he was debating but she smiled; her eyes disappeared and formed the loveliest crescent moons over those blush-pink tinted cheekbones. Mini knew exactly what she needed to do to get what she wanted. Her short seven years of life, no one – I mean, no one – was able to say “no” once she smiled.

Her little hand grabbed a napkin and placed it over one of the scones. She struggled a bit trying not to touch the pastry directly with her fingers. For Mini, etiquette was very important. I patiently let Mini to do her bidding but kept my attentive eye, ready to help her out if she were to ask for assistance. Or about to drop a scone on the floor. Elio beamed at her effort and understood her fuss-about, showing proper table manner. It meant that he was not a family but he deserved to be fretted over with such fashion.

Without asking, the server brought out another freshly brewed cup. _Oh, Tom_. I looked over to the counter and Tom just gave me a gentle incline with his chin. I mouthed _thank you_ and Tom disappeared into the kitchen.

I asked the serving staff to place it for Elio and before I had a chance to thank her, Mini piped up and said a delightful, “thank you!” Three adults around the table broke out into affectionate laughs. Elio complimented the coffee even before taking a sip. Then he offered his guess that the beans must have been roasted in Italian way.

Elio watched as Mini split her scone with a fork, the method I showed her when she turned five, carefully poking with her mindfully held utensil around the middle. Once it opened up, she then attentively spread a decent amount of jelly, after picking one out of the house jelly selection, on the bottom piece. She looked up at me with a sheepish expression, putting her fingers in her mouth. _Oh, yes, she knows she wasn't normally allowed to indulge in such way._ I lifted my cloth napkin and Mini gave me a goofy grin, as I gently wiped her fingers with a knowing look. Because, of course, she was clearly aware she just got away with it.

Two adults just sat there as Mini started biting happily into the warm scone. In between her bites, after a sip of her chocolate milk, Mini repeated the information about the very dessert she was enjoying. Elio, surpringly, was very receptive of her jabbers.

After Mini downed two and half scones, she rubbed at her eyes and gently pulled on my shirt. When I turned to her, she quietly said she wanted the cuddle.

“Ellie-baby, you wanted to come out here,” I said quietly.

“But I’m sleepy,” I think it was the chocolate milk that did it. Well, she was quite generous with her jelly spread, too.

“Do you want to go home and take a nap?” I asked warmly in a hushed tone.

Maybe I was trying to find an out. She shook her head, yawning. Little droplets hung at the end of her eyes after she closed her mouth. Mini looked up at me, pouting a little.

“come here.”

With a practiced ease, I scooped her up, swung her legs away, towards the window-side and she folded herself comfortably in my arms. She put her fingers through the openings between my shirt buttons, nuzzling her head fully against my chest.

“(I love you to the moon and the whole ride along the Milky way), Mama.”

I whispered our little ritual phrases into her ear and gently pressed a kiss on the top of her head.

The whole time, I could tell Elio was looking at us, though I couldn’t dare to glance his way to confirm. In my peripheral vision, he looked like he was paying close attention in a calm and doting manner. After he felt that Mini was comfortably situated in my lap, he leaned in a little and started a conversation.

“How are you?” asked Elio.

“good, good, How are you?”

“yeah, doing good,” said Elio sipping on the espresso.

Not knowing how or what to talk about we just sat there. Mini fell fast sleep in my embrace. Elio was picking at his scone. I ran my palm gently through her curly hair. It was surreal to hear his voice again, up this close.

“Are those for coming semester?” asked Elio with a slight tilt towards the papers.

“Yeah.”

“Are you still at Columbia?

I hummed with a slight nod.

“So what brings you here?” _It was as mutual question as any_ , I thought, trying to reassure myself.

“I’m starting at NYU this fall. I came early to get acclimated,” Elio said nonchalantly.

“here? In New York?”

“yeah,” the corner of Elio’s lips quirked up a bit but he didn’t toss any of his usual quips.

I was caught off-guard. Eight-years later, by a pure chance, he was here. We were here. Same city, same café. And he will be staying.

“I got some guest performances scheduled for New York Philharmonic and Juilliard.”

I only could offer ‘ah---’ as a response. I must look ridiculous.

Another pause.

“How’re your parents?” I said after a couple of quick blinks.

“They are in Milan. My dad is about to retire. I think he is about to finish another book. And my mom had her exhibition very recently in Province,”

“Wow, you Perlmans are something,” I couldn’t help but to chuckle because I could picture Pro. and Annella all too vividly.

“So how’s your wife?”

A blink. I froze. _Right... he wasn’t in the loop_. I recomposed myself as fast as I could manage and offered a small smile. I wondered whether Elio could see through me: me trying to modulate my emotions in front of him.

“UWS shooting, two years ago.”

“I’m so sorry,” Elio sighed. He looked really affected by the news. _Was it the trick of light_?

I shook my head, “don’t be, I bet she is happy wherever she is since she went with a bang with her alpha bravado and gusto intact.”

Elio’s smart watch ‘ting’ed. A single crystal clear chime. Without hesitation, Elio reached for my phone, which was neglected sitting on top of the table, and stretched out his arm. I looked up at Elio with a ‘huh?’ expression.

Elio flicked it gently and said, “unlock it.”

I lifted my hand and placed it on the screen. I was glad that I sat my left finger print instead of the right. I didn’t want to wake Mini.

Elio spun my phone around in his gently clasped hand, smiled at seeing the homescreen picture – me and Mini with a goofy smile with vanilla icing on our noses – and thumbed on the screen.

His wrist unit buzzed. Elio thumbed the face of my phone once more before handing it to me.

“Listen, I have a meeting-,” looking at his wrist then a swipe, followed by a flick of his wrist, “it was nice seeing you both.”

“Yeah, me too,” I offered, _not entirely being honest_. I couldn’t help feeling deflated. He was leaving. Already.

“Tell her I’ll see her again soon, hm?” Elio tossed those words as he got up.

“soon? again?”

Elio smiled wide, “yeah, soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * **disclaimer** * Technically, Marion Berry is a trademark name (from Oregon, US) of blackberry variety obtained via the traditional crossbreed hybridization.
> 
> What you read was my limitation as a story teller of the realistic dialogue explaining things to a seven-year-old… I sawee, *defeated sigh*  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> All those who read, thank you for your interest and your time!  
> For those who fastened in your comments and kudos, you k.n.o.w. how much I appreciate you!  
> .  
> Doors are open, so come in and share what you think below, and click on the pesky kudos button and send me some luvvv.  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> A short good bye for now!  
> .


	6. Just Three Days After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Crema, Oliver is finally getting a chance to just be himself, for the first time in his life.

####  **Chapter 5. Just Three Days After**

**8 years or so ago | Crema, Italy | Oliver POV**

I learned early on, because of the circumstances and the situation I was thrown into, how to read people’s contradicting emotions and subtle nuances: a survival instinct. It was a painstakingly heart-wrenching choice to “appear” that I did not care, that I paid no mind to unnecessary derogatory comments, to being put down or considered less of a human being because of my secondary gender. What started as keeping a straight face has now become _the Ollie mode_ – a phrase pun of “à la mode”; Jess’s version of calling _it_ instead of poker face.

But for some reason, from the very first day I arrived here, everything started to be okay.

It started out with, me having no choice but to open, my shirt buttons; two to be exact. Italian Summer _was_ definitely hotter than what I was used to. Humidity here was a different animal. With this rate, putting masking balm would only end up as a futile attempt.

Coming from a small town in New England and being an odd Jew, I kept my Star of David somewhat hidden under my ‘proper attire,’ being a government ward and all. There was no negative emotion attached to my habit until a couple of years ago. Just a few weeks before my departure, there was another mass shooting in a synagogue within the city limits. This unfortunate reemergence of White Nationalism made being a Jew in States, yet again, something I needed to keep under wraps – for the sake of my life.

But here, I was okay with being Jew. I was okay with myself. I was okay with my body, with my antic backhand, with my choice of books, music, films, friends.

First I shrugged this change in me for being in Europe, as people say; when people travel the Old World, they behave differently. Not to mention the fact that something about the perpetual temporariness would bring out or unveil the part that people normally wouldn’t at their home environment. I couldn’t say I was an exception of those common conceptions.

Then I quickly revamped my initial statement to “for being around the Perlmans and the villa.” The runs were different. Sitting under the sun was different. I found myself just enjoying my surroundings and taking them in. Naturally, I was getting more and more detached from the devices I obsessively made sure to bring over. A laptop, a tablet, an external hard drive. There were so many other things that occupied my waking hours. Even Jess mentioned that I sound different, when I spoke to her briefly the other day. To that I tossed, “it’s just same ole me,” and shrugged it off.

*

A translator Bert arranged, Signora Milani, preferred using actual type writer. It gave me a reason to write out in parchments Pro graciously and generously offered.

On the first day of my official duty as a summer guest, sorting out his physical mails, email correspondences and downloading e-files to his tablet by categories, I was holding a sheet of off-white paper. The texture was quite different from what I was used to.

“They are tree-free,” Pro said.

I must’ve had a question mark on my face. He lightly chuckled with his trademark wide smile.

“sugar cane, banana leaves, palm leaves. Here, you are welcome to use them. Every writer needs to get their hands dirty,” and offered one of his Mont Blanc pens.

I had a similar one just like it; one that my gammy gave it to me for my high school graduation before she passed away. But the one I brought was actually given by the state official as a part of outward charade, a photo op, a couple of years ago. So I was okay with losing it, too.

Getting critiqued by Pro was okay; in fact, I loved his feedback. Even it meant that going back to the drawing board. Having tête-à-tête with different guests at “the dinner drudgery” was quite interesting. Well, up to a certain point. I did need to excuse myself here and there.

*

I think it was when Elio was showing me around the town, a few days back. Upon his suggestion, we took the bike. Having never been to a country side such as this, my heart was leaping out of my chest the whole ride. His minty scent carried by the wind, pushing all my five senses into complete overload. I was happily and blissfully drowning in it.

The _bartabacchera_ was totally dark and empty. The owner was mopping the floor with the strong ammonia solution. Without a word, we looked at each other and bolted out of the bar. When I asked him whether I could open a bank account here, he just shrugged and said, “wouldn’t it be better to have your U.S. account to accept international deposit?”

“I didn’t think of that.”

“The guy before you, last year, told me about it. I don’t know how it is done, though,” said Elio as if he was spitting out some long idling thoughts.

Elio had this funny but endearing way of speech; cramming all the things he wanted to say as if he was always running out of time, never meeting my eyes but drawing paths with his gaze.

“But if you are going for some discretion, I’d forego the bank anyway,” Elio shrugged.

He offered a large bottle of mineral water after taking a long swill. I waved my hand. Elio brought it back to his lips, took another swig, then he did it. Something nonchalant and uneventful for him that took my breath away. He poured some water on his other hand and ran his fingers through unruly dark curls.

_Fuck_

At that, my first reaction was to offer yet another veiled indifference, _Later_ ,– the false bravado I carefully constructed over the years and to hide behind my wide, all-teeth, golden boy smile –and bolt away from him.

“What did one do around here?” I asked instead, busying my eyes away from Elio.

“Nothing,” said Elio flinching a little, “wait for summer to end,” as if to convey the meaning of the word ‘insufficient.’ _Maybe the water was too cold? Or it wasn’t fizzy enough?_ I thought.

“What did one do in the winter, then?” I was frantically trying to keep the conversation going.

The hazel eyes peaked up from behind the sunglasses with a bit of ‘you already know the answer to that’ look. _Ah---_ , as the voice in my head echoed, I inclined my head a bit.

“Don’t tell me: wait for summer to come, right?” I countered with a grin.

What surprised me was that even though I desperately tried _not_ to get involved with the son of the host, my short Italian summer jaunt, I found myself being able to read Elio’s mind just from that look. It was a good feeling.

“Actually, in the winter the place gets very gray and dark. We come for Christmas. Otherwise it’s a ghost town.”

I teased him more which he made this adorable look, every time. I understood his wordless expression. We laughed. I asked more of what he did. He said he played tennis. Swam. Went out at night. Jogged. Transcribed music. Read.

_Can he be any more real?_

The words Elio was tossing nonchalantly towards my direction landed straight in my chest. The same code. The same interest. A seventeen-year-old sharing the same shade of color as mine.

That was it. It took me less than three days to fall for him; head over heels, completely crazy in love. And in front of him, I became this blundering idiot. The desire I couldn’t hide; wanting to get to know him, wanting to hear his voice, wanting to have him meet my eyes.

So I did what I do best when Elio offered he’d show me his jogging route: the promenade.

“Later, maybe.”

The feign indifference.

.

* * *

\---------------------------------------------------------  
[Chapter 5 deleted scene]  
Playing volleyball under the Italian Sun, sweat pouring out of every pore I have, I could no longer hold onto the inhibitions I well-practiced my entire life. For the first time in a very long while, I found myself enjoying this whole no-care-in-the-world attitude. I never thought I had it in me.  
Through clandestine peripheral stolen glances, Elio came into view; encircling outside of the courtyard without his shirt on. Even Chiara noticed. _uhf, fuck it,_ the voice in my head spat.  
I ran to him in a light sprint, placed my hand where I wanted to bury my nose on, and grabbed a water bottle from Elio’s hand. _'Are you out of your mind??'_ I knew exactly what I was doing, but I couldn’t help myself just to act on this impulse.  
While the cold, lime-squeezed water was going down my throat, I breathed in as much of Elio’s scent as I could. I felt Elio tense up under my palm.  
“Did I hit a nerve?” I offered as I wiped the stray streak of water off, with the back of my hand.  
“here,” while I showed my faux concern, just to rub my pads on his scenting-points to make it more intense. _'you are out of your god-damn mind!'_ The voice inside my head chastised.  
As I gently kneaded his muscles, his freshly squeezed gland let out thicker spearmint in the air. Immediately, my mouth watered. All I wanted was to lick them off of him. As the want was getting out of my hands, Elio twitched again. _This is my cue._  
“Marzia, come feel this.”  
\---------------------------------------------------------

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
> *clarification*  
> à la mode; Jess was being sarcastic and making fun of Oliver. Her meaning would be close to ‘Chilled sweet façade.’ Oliver being Oliver always talking about linguistics and Etymology and all...  
> .  
> Well, folks, this is the end of pre-written chapter, hence, for quick back-to-back updates. I did tell you that there was almost a year worth of self-imposed wrack of “trying” to write, right?  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> Do remember to comment and if you’d even bothered to click on kudos, that’s just a tiny bit more sunshine for me.  
> .  
> Wish all of you a wonderful beginning of December and a splendid weekend!  
> .


	7. En Passant: now, your move.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> En passant  
> .  
> n. a move in chess. It is a special pawn capture that can only occur immediately after a pawn makes a double-step move from its starting square, and it could have been captured by an enemy pawn had it advance only one square.

####  **Chapter 6. En Passant: now, your move.**

**Evening | New York | Oliver’s Place | 3 rd Person POV**

About a week later, Oliver received an e-vite to a concert. The link had detailed information about how rare this concert was; with full 120-piece orchestra and simultaneous live streaming services with a long list of online music platforms and satellite radio stations, with the healthy helpings of big name sponsors. To make the scale even more grand, Elio’s night will be accompanied by showcase of a new full concert grand from one of the major piano companies. From the looks of it, Elio was playing during the week of Johannes Brahms’ theme concerts.

_Friday, Wow._

Brahms’ Night Chapter Three.

Caroline Gvanstsanese introducing Elio Perlman to U.S. stage.

And Oliver was able to click on Elio’s bio. Long list of bullet points showed his establishments and awards in Europe. Oliver thought Elio achieved quite a lot for his age, as he undoubtedly should.

If this Caroline pianist was as renowned as she was, Oliver wondered how Elio managed to get him a last minute _Friday evening_ ticket since the concert was only three weeks away.

Oliver pondered intensely whether he would be able to go. He’d probably need to have a sitter over for Mini and…

Plink.

The e-vite must’ve had a read-receipt, Oliver thought staring at the screen. _What does one say to such question? ‘Congratulations, I’m happy for you?,’ or ‘Break your leg?’ Uhg, get a grip, you idiot._ Oliver scolded himself.

Oliver almost could picture Elio: huffing out a laugh with the quirk on his lips.

 _What now?_ He stared at his phone screen, rubbing at the evening stubble on his jaw with his palm. Then, his fingers began to move. Sure enough, all Oliver did was a series of quick thumb, thumb, thumb; typing and deleting several times, not knowing what to say or how to say it.

_Damn, the typing bubble_

So many thoughts were jumbling up inside his head. Well, Oliver did have legitimate enough justification to decline. Teaching a pilot Summer history course for the nursing program at the local community college: one of Columbia’s affiliate schools. Oliver felt that it was a detail Elio wouldn’t be so interested.

Anyway, having been invited to similar settings as a government ward, Oliver happened to own a suit that may not embarrass Elio. But Oliver wasn’t sure whether he had the guts to broach the…

Plink.

 _Shit_! His phone screen went black meant it has been more than five minutes; he was thinking too long. _Unlock, drag down the top notification._

Oddly, Oliver felt the haptic feedback was suddenly weird against his finger pads.

_Wait! Did he just…? Oh, you sneaky son of a…_

After unintentionally disclosing he wasn’t seeing anyone in particular, too-many thoughts were chattering inside Oliver’s head. _Of course, I’m a parent first. My child should be the first and foremost priority for any consideration, in my head. Maybe I’m just keeping my personal details to myself. Even from you, Elio. Urrggghhhh---, Was I this petty?_

_Clever as always._

_What the fuck are you doing?_ Oliver chided himself.

*

The very next day, sitting in Cafecito, Oliver couldn’t stop himself from brooding over the text exchange from last night. The blond did reply; in a clipped, something in lines with ‘I will let you know.’

 _Ehkk,_ Oliver removed his lips from the edge of the cup, _cold._ A blatant outward evidence of ‘Oliver spent too long’ on unnecessary overthinking; even the most delectable cup turned sour.

/ ‘the seat is yours.’ /

was Elio’s reply to Oliver’s round-about, ‘I might not be able to make it’ answer.

.

“what, no scones?”

Oliver looked up a tad too quick, it felt like he gave himself a cringe on the back of his neck.

“I knew you weren’t listening any,” said Elio sitting opposite of Oliver, sipping from his 22oz tumbler.

“Hi, Elio.”

A single jolly scoff, “Hi, Elio,” countered the dark curls with a smile.

Oliver took out his earphones, wrapping it around his hand as he had done countless times, then gently slid the bundle to the side on the table.

“So, where’s Mini?” asked Elio.

“She’s with her grandparents.”

Elio’s eyebrows rose towards his hairline.

“Jess’s,” answered the Blond.

“ah---.”

After a short, shared chortle-like-laughs, an awkward silence fell over them; Oliver thrumming his fingers on top of his thigh. Elio sipping a fresh warm brew from his travel mug, keeping his gaze over the rim, studying Oliver.

“Oh, relax,” said the hazel eyes, “I had some errands to run near here,” leaning back on his seat, “this place _does_ have good coffee.”

“can’t argue with that.”

“exactly,” agreed Elio as if to put a punctuation.

Both smiled warmly.

“any plans for this summer?” Elio continued.

Oliver tilted his head a bit in a suspicion and said, “I’ll be teaching a pilot program.”

“about?”

“Bronze age Omegan history.”

“wow.”

“something tells me you already knew that,” stated Oliver.

“guilty!” admitted Elio raising both his hands up in the air, “as I am to start teaching at NYU soon, I get these things called newsletters?” he chuckled.

Then his hazel eyes formed a delightful half-moon smile and continued, “even if I tried not to, it now became a part of my _business_ to know.”

Well, this pilot program was in close association with the NYU med-school project Oliver started last semester. Something Oliver worked hard for; in honor of his late spouse, Jess. She used to say spreading facts and truth to more people by proper accessible education is the key for creating the harmonious and inclusive society. As Pro used to say that scholars should learn how to speak to layperson, so long as one Dante-and-Homer them first. A little smile came on Oliver’s face at the thought of how passionate and animated Pro was when he first spoke of this.

So, Oliver too felt that teaching the future learned professionals of fact-based, non-partisan, archeological-evidence based knowledge backed by quantifiable data would jump-start the better treatment of secondary genders.

Elio’s wrist unit ‘ting’-ed and his dazzling curls swayed as his eyes turned to look outside. _I forgot how much I missed his scent._ Oliver thought as Elio’s scent wafted up his nose hard.

“my ride’s here,” Elio meant the Uber as he got up, holding his tall tumbler.

Oliver was about to bid goodbye, Elio paused, standing next to Oliver without facing or looking.

“I’d really love it if you could come,” then turned his head, his chin just above his shoulder and met Oliver’s blue eyes in a firm gaze.

A full eye-contact. Looking up, Oliver sat frozen without a blink.

“Or I’d rather see an empty seat,’ added Elio with an airy indifference under-toned with a bite, before saying, with a smile,

“Esco, Ulliva!”

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
> I took ‘Esco’ directly from the book-verse. (Oliver’s Italian equivalent of “later”)  
> Had a little accident with my portable drive yesterday–, and I learned that there IS such thing as stress-writing. Who knew? *series of curse words*  
> .  
> I wanted to portray ‘mid-twenties Elio’ as a suave Alpha. Hence the reason for one of checkmate moves as Chapter 6’s title, not sure it came through... *running away, hiding behind one of the neighbors' gargantuan Holiday exterior decoration*  
> .  
> *fangirl scream* I am shamelessly paying tribute to the return of couple of my favorite CMBYN authors and their works’ re-emergence. For those who devour every. single. work. under CMBYN fandom as I do, you k.n.o.w. whom. *clearing throat, side eyes* I never kiss and tell. Well, *looking down, fidgeting hands* they don’t know I’m their fan, that’s why. :3  
> .


	8. It’s Just How Things Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Round one: denial vs. reality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
> Words within ._._. notation are Oliver’s reverie.  
> .

####  **Chapter 7. It’s Just How Things Are**

**New York | Doctor’s office | Oliver POV**

“How long has it been?”

The last OB/GYN was just over two years ago. Other than what was required by Columbia, I didn’t see the need to visit any specialist. And tossing ‘I’m sorry I really don’t have time’ to each time my family practitioner reminded me, _well, I WAS really swamped with work_ , was easier than I thought. Also, I wasn’t necessarily sexually active so... Frankly, the thought of another Smear test made me wince more than anything. So I have been avoiding.

“Not since Jess died.”

She kept her expression neutral and typed-tapped-and-clicked on her tablet. Healthcare professionals have been mandated to go through de-sensitization training. The degree of how rigorous the training is usually depended on how politically inclusive the institution was. Mostly, doctors and nurses could use the scent blocker under their nose to counter the possible unwanted distraction. ER and trauma units… well, let’s just say the reality was not always as what the textbook ideology preached. So those of us Omegas quickly learned to pick the providers with reputable and vetted reviews.

“Are you on any suppressants?”

She meant other means than official doctor prescription.

“No.”

Mini and I have been busy trying to live a life without Jess. I took a sabbatical and decided to postpone Mini’s primary school entry.

“Any headache or nausea?”

“No, just the discomfort,” my hand automatically wrapped itself around my lower belly.

“Come on up, let me examine you,” she said pulling out the extensions. _Urrgghh, they still look like a torture device_.

._._.

Three months after Mini’s birth, the debt was paid and I became an independent Omega. I even paid Jess back, the portion Jess had to pay the State in order for her to become my guardian, which she called it a loan. When I finally persuaded her to accept the amount, she utilized it as a full donation for her cause; two abused underage Omega young-adults were able to get a proper medical care.

After Mini was happily weaned, Jess asked, out of nowhere, whether I’d like to be legally unattached. Saying something in lines that I was a completely independent Omega and that I could now start teaching full time since Columbia offered a trustworthy in-house child care.

._._.

“A little uncomfortable, Oliver,” the doctor announced quietly.

I never liked the feeling of speculum. So intrusive. A flinch. It was more like a mental knee-jerk reaction rather than of pain, since both the medical lube and the device were warm.

._._.

I pried and pried for a span of few days to have Jess talk to me why she even brought up the subject.

_Have you found someone you want to actually bond with?_

_/ No. /_

_Have Mini and I become a burden to you?_

_/ No. /_

_Then, why?_

_/ because of the work that I do. /_

That was the first time I saw her cry.

Although she was aware that having a co-parent would only benefit Mini, to grow up as a well-rounded Alpha, she gave a serious thought to detach herself from us. When, after all, she was the one made all this possible.

Maybe Jess always knew, in some unknown way, that her time was coming due. It took me a while to understand how dreadfully terrified she was of the fact she’d be leaving us behind. The realization of how deep her fear ran came to me, when I met her proxy from the organization she was working for. Jess’s living will was meticulously drafted and bonded to assure, not just my continued independent Omega status but also the comfortable life for both Mini and I for few years. Her boss, Glen, told me that he had to take measures since Jess refused to accept any bonus or pay-raise, for all the work she did for the organization. Hence, Glen resorting it to a sizable company life insurance policy under her name.

._._.

“Dealing with the loss of a family member, a close ally, a friend, a support in such traumatic way does something to body,” after a few tiny clicks, the doctor said in her futile attempt to distract my attention, “Is there any change in your routine?”

Then, it hit me.

Elio.

“Oliver?” her expertly plucked-and-trimmed eyebrows arched up – resembled the Chinese character number 8– looking up at me, emerging to the line of my sight.

“I’m sorry. Yes.”

“Alpha, huh?” the doctor asked, in tamed neutral tone, while taking her disposable nitrile gloves off.

I felt heat rushing up on my neck and cheeks. _Oh, fuck, don’t blush, Oliver. You are over thirty._

“Ultrasound image along with your blood panel will let me know more. But, as of now, I don’t suspect any clinical abnormality. I recommend a birth control if you are-,”

“No suppressants, please.”

The doctor smiled fondly, “of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
> .  
> .  
> \---------------------------------------  
> [Chapter 7 End scene]  
> In his medical record, Jess’s directive denoted that if Oliver were to get any hormonal prescription, they are to be compounded to the closest approximation of his own chemistry.  
> \---------------------------------------  
> .  
> *long drawn out yawn* now me go bed------  
> .


	9. A Step Back; even before any began

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Concert night

####  **Chapter 8. A Step Back; even before any began**

**Friday Evening | New York | David Geffen Hall, Lincoln Center |3 rd person POV**

Three weeks seemed like a blur to Oliver. Or Oliver stubbornly regarded his butterflies-in-the-stomach as a part of his social anxiety and tried his best justifying to himself that it didn’t bother him too much. A form of self-manipulation, that was. A defeated sigh.

The hall was huge. And the place was jam packed with patrons and classics enthusiasts of all ages. Even the expensive box seats were full.

Two pianos were interlocked together in the middle of the stage without top, several microphone stands were positioned above the strings. The one on the right of the stage was slightly bigger than the one on the left.

While the audience sat down, the overhead announcement came on. Although the tone was soothing and just enough buttery to set the mood, the message was quite passive aggressive. In a gist, thanks to the recent renovation, the cell signal would be blocked for the duration of concert and the patrons should refrain from the subservient encore chants. The actual vocabulary was expertly ‘civil.’

Orchestral members started walking in and began their tuning. As the light in the hall dimmed, leaving only stage-lights, Oliver took in a breath.

Second chair stood up as the first chair walked up to the stage. When the female conductor walked in from the opposite side, the whole orchestra stood up and clapped softly. The maestro bowed. The first chair kissed her hand before sitting down. Then, the conductor opened her arm, Caroline walked up with her natural sway of hips and placed her hand on the maestro’s palm. Caroline Gvanstsanese had a chocolate brown hair and bright green eyes, in an impeccable figure-hugging dress showing her voluptuous lines. In person, she looked more like a pro-Latin dancer than a concert pianist. She had a blazing red lipstick but no fake eye lashes or heavy eye makeup. A small single stud earring glinted brightly under the stage light.

She sat down on the chair on the right side grand.

The maestro then extended her other arm, Elio walked up from the other side. He was in hunter green suede tux. To Oliver’s surprise, Elio was wearing light blue shirt with a matching bow tie rather than formal shirt.

_Billowy._

Olive gasped. The young patron sitting next to Oliver grunted a bit.

.

After just over two hours and a half, Caroline and Elio were in the center stage, as the crowd erupted into a loud wave of claps. Not surprisingly enough, a chant for encore broke out. _See? It doesn’t matter how much the event managers “try” to make the U.S. classics culture to resemble that of European one. Just waste of an overhead announcement._

The female pianist leaned over to Elio’s left ear and they exchanged some words. Then, Caroline went over to the conductor. The first chair got up and joined the two. It looked as though there was no encore planned.

Elio soon joined them around the conductor’s podium, the four exchanged some more words, then nodding, some gestures. Then wide smiles came on all four of them. It appeared they have reached to an agreement. The audience who were still on their feet sat down in their respectable seats.

When Elio was about to sit, Caroline gestured, then small smile came on Elio’s face. He then walked over to the bigger grand and sat next to her. They spoke to each other, almost cheek-to-cheek and Elio gave a grin before placing his hands on the low keys. The whole place fell silent.

Not even a cough.

Elio fingers began to move. _Libertango_. The crowd exclaimed in unison.

Elio glanced over to the maestro and repeated the beginning. To everyone’s surprise, she started clapping. Clap, Clap, Clap. All teeth, wide-smile bloomed on Elio’s face, behind his magnificent curls. Then, the first chair also started clapping the beat. The string section, next. Soon the entire hall was filled with delightful staccato claps. Clap, Clap, Clap.

Elio’s fingers were dancing over the keys in precision. The maestro’s hand finally started to create the magical wave. She signaled and the first chair started the melody. The violinist, literally, started ripping the superb sound from his violin. _Wow!!_

Then, Caroline joined.

With the seductive melody of lustrous solo violin, two pianists were able to captivate the whole hall of audience, again, in less than five minutes.

Lots of bravos, whistles, two pianists came up front to take a long praise. Caroline gestured her hand towards the audience taking a step back and Elio bowed deep. When Elio stood up, Caroline’s fingers linked with Elio’s and he followed her off the stage. Maestro beamed, clapping as they exited. After a long clap, the conductor took a bow. She offered thanks to her first chair and the second.

The lights of the hall gradually came on as the stage light dimmed. People were exasperated how great the concert was. ‘it was insane,’ ‘definitely an improv!’ Some were chatting away about how gorgeous the two pianists would be as a couple. Of course, the phrases like, ‘they are definitely together-together’ didn’t miss Oliver’s ear.

Oliver turned on his phone to check and see if there was any message from the sitter.

Instead,

/ ‘meet me at the back stage.’ /

*

As expectedly, there was a concert hall staff, Al, waiting to escort Oliver to the back stage. When Oliver arrived at the destination, maintaining a step behind Al the whole way, two pianists were standing next to a grand-piano, their body’s flushed together. Caroline had her arms around Elio’s neck, Elio had his around her waist. Something sharp coiled in Oliver’s stomach. But then, the whole picture looked so right. The two fit so well, even in Oliver’s head.

Caroline saw Oliver first as Al excused himself. She peeled her arms letting them fall next to her side elegantly as if she was finishing her contemporary dance routine. She walked over to Oliver with her hip swaying the infinity loop. She was the quintessential all female alpha. Sensual, seductive without trying, with ample European charms.

“Caroline, this is Oliver. Oliver, Caroline,”

The way Elio pronounced her first name was very French. It was customary for an Omega to wait until properly introduced by an Alpha. One of those old-fashioned, ‘the way things are’ in social settings such as this.

“enchanté,” She leaned in and pressed a lingering peck on Oliver’s cheek, just missing the edge of Oliver’s lips. Her perfume, mixture of cinnamon, marshmallow and some kind of flower Oliver couldn’t quite put his finger on, accentuated her natural Alpha scent. It reminded him of Christmas.

In rapid French, Caroline said something to Elio and Elio ducked his head a little.

“Did you enjoy the concert, Oliver?”

“Yes, I did.”

Caroline reached her hand up and thumbed a wide swipe on Oliver’s cheek over her smeared lipstick. No, it wasn’t customary for a newly introduced Alpha to touch as she did. Not even in the Old-world, they didn’t. Oliver quickly understood _this Caroline_ pianist was a different type of an Alpha.

Another rapid French.

“(oh, stop it)” Elio said. That, Oliver understood. _Caroline must be teasing Elio_. He thought.

Caroline asked about how Elio and Oliver met. Elio skillfully turned the conversation by telling Caroline about Oliver’s achievements and encouraging Oliver to talk about his work at NYU medical school program. When Oliver didn’t say much about himself, Elio smoothly changed the subject, talking about how crazy it was for him to play next to her tonight. It appeared that Caroline was quite spontaneous in nature and rather passionate. Elio added that it was not like they were back in school, saying something in lines of ‘against the protocol.’ Caroline quipped in rapid French and ended, “(you still love me).” The part Oliver understood. To that, Elio said, “(that, I do; forever and after).” She beamed.

“Well, I’m tired. I’ll see you at home, yes?” asked Caroline bending down ever so slightly to reach down to her gown, right so on her mid-thigh, and gathered the fabric in her fingers. Elio helped her with the train of her dress and answered in French.

“It was very nice meeting you, Oliver.”

“The same, Caroline,” said Oliver with a slight head-bow.

Before she headed out, she turned to Elio, paused, meeting his glinting hazel eyes, and pressed an open mouth kiss on Elio’s lips. Although it was strictly lips only, it was extremely sensual. When two parted, their lips were like a decal-sticker trying to peel. The top layers of their lips appeared like it wouldn’t want to let go. Then, she laid a quick peck on Elio’s cheek in a ‘see? now, all is good’ manner. Elio just shook his head with an affectionate smile. It looked like he couldn’t help himself.

Caroline effortlessly swiveled her whole body and tossed ‘Ciao’ before walking away. After two men watched the stunning horizontal number eight drawn in mid-air, below the artfully defined scapula, disappear behind the door in silence, Elio turned to Oliver.

“Thanks for coming,” said Elio as he undid his bowtie and let in hung around his neck.

“You bet,” Oliver wanted to say something about billowy but he quickly decided not to.

“You look dashing, Oliver. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this,” offered Elio fondly.

Oliver just let out low breathy laughs. It was clear to him that Elio was continuing on the tempo of their last text conversation. _Natural flirt._ Olive debated whether to quip back but he, again, decided against it.

“So how’s Mini?” asked Elio finally noticing Oliver’s retraction.

“She’s doing well.”

Oliver was definitely flustered. The very information the blond decided that he wasn’t going to disclose, they were coming out of his mouth. Well, Oliver couldn’t help himself of being so proud of his daughter that she’d be starting her first year of K-12, coming September.

“How’s your summer going?” asked Elio.

“Well, work is work.”

A withdrawal. Elio flinched minutely.

“Oh, that?” said Elio, noticing the blue eyes were grazing at the semi-grand, “only Caroline.”

Oliver had a ‘what do you mean?’ expression on his face.

“I do like to warm up before I go on stage,” offered Elio looking down at his hands, gently strumming his fingers in the mid-air a little, “but I’d hurl if I need to get mine warmed-up like she does.”

Oliver let out an 'ah---' as an acknowledgement. He understood that only a concert pianist of Caroline’s caliber could ask for an extra grand to be placed in the back stage.

“Any plans for another book?” Elio tossed another neutral question, carefully studying Oliver’s expression.

“Well, I don’t know…”

“Inspiration didn’t hit you yet?” countered Elio shoving his hands down his dress pants pocket.

“You could say that. Umm… thanks for the invitation and the concert. I really enjoyed it.”

“Do you want to go get some drink?” Elio offered gesturing his thumb over the shoulder.

A blink.

“uhh… I should go back. Mini…”

Just like that, Oliver completely retreated back in his shell. Elio couldn’t hide his disappointment. Of course, Elio already knew he lost the chance for longer casual-conversation as soon as Oliver thanked him.

“I understand. Say hello to Mini for me, will you?”

Oliver hummed with a nod, “sure.”

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Just-in-case: concert details]  
> -Feurich 218 Concert I with Pédale Harmonique (four-pedal) concert grand,  
> -Steinway & Sons Model D full concert grand,  
> -Bösendorfer 213 semi-grand,  
> -Johannes Brahms Piano Concerto 1 through 3,  
> -Libertango: mixture of these two--, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kdhTodxH7Gw, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8UXlf_ZMb8E  
> .  
> .  
> * **disclaimer** * no real-life personal preference in this chapter nor the accurate description of said location or procedures/management.  
> .  
> [Blatant Homage] was the point of this chapter. ‘no’ I didn’t ask for permission. _But_ did inform the said author of this chapter, after I finished posting this. And again, if you consume fics in this fandom as I do, you’d know whom. *kuh hmm*  
> .  
> After last Saturday’s drama of losing the whole file of this fic, stress-wrote instead of sleeping till Sunday late afternoon. Thanks to holiday spirit, Monday sailed through with fair-wind. But a strange anxiety kicked in. Yes, many details are definitely gone but I got the majority of the plot line re-typed. *chewing on lemon* *deflated sigh*  
> .  
> But thank you for following the story. Do share your thoughts and leave comments. Kudos? Of course, if you could spare one, it’s a cotton-candy-cloud bonus. :)  
> .


	10. E Un Timido: a thing about being slow.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If only Oliver would just ask…

####  **Chapter 9. È Un Timido: a thing about being slow.**

A few days later, after class, Oliver felt odd picking up the prescription. In Oliver’s thick head, there was nothing going on between Elio and him. But all signs were pointing to Oliver’s impending long-been-dormant-heat. The blond’s logic was if he were to have a heat, he’d rather be prepared. Because there was hefty number of data reporting Omegan’s weird heat behavior not just from those who weaned off of suppressants. Oliver wasn’t going to get knocked up by some strange Alpha during his heat haze. Moreover, if he were to end up using the service, birth control in his system will protect Oliver even if ‘stealthing’ were to occur. Yeah, even when you pay for the legitimate service, people do things for the ‘thrill’ of it.

Yet, again, a dormant heat resurfacing after meeting Elio only a handful of times? after its arrest for more than two years?

Oliver shook his head. ‘No over-assuming,’ he reprimanded himself.

“Would you like to take one in our nurse station?”

Oliver nodded and the petite pharmacy tech brought out a tray for him and asked if Oliver need any instruction. Then she quietly closed the door behind her. He lifted his shirt up a bit and pinched a bit of flash next to his belly button. A hesitation. _Am I being presumptuous?_ A swipe with an alcohol pad and he pressed the auto-injectable. A tiny click. That was all to it. A sigh.

**One Early Morning | New York | Bagel-Sand Masters’ | 3 rd Person POV**

Upon a request from Mini, last night before bed, Oliver ended his run a bit farther away from his usual rout, to get her favorite bagel sandwich.

The whole run, Oliver couldn’t get the image of Caroline and Elio standing next to a grand piano backstage. _They seriously looked a stunning pair._

“Hi, Gina, how are you?” he said taking out his ear bud.

Oliver ordered, a sunflower butter n jelly with ham and cream cheese on toasted cinnamon swirl bagel for Mini and a salmon with chive-and-dill cream cheese on sesame sourdough bagel for him.

In the midst of her busy morning, Gina asked if Oliver was okay, noticing him flinching, though it was not pronounced. Oliver offered his usual small smile.

“Probably from something I ate yesterday,” offered a courteous wave of dismissal with his hand.

“It’s Summer, Oliver. Food gets spoiled easily,” said Gina.

Gina and her bagel-sand masters were always quick with their order. The reason Oliver loves this place was because Gina makes everything from scratch. If the ingredient runs out, they are out.

*

“Hey.”

A familiar voice echoed from behind when Oliver stepped out of the shop. Another pure chance. Still half asleep Elio smiled through his unruly curls, yawning, wearing a bit thin for the early morning weather.

“Mini,” said Oliver raising the brown bag a little.

“Ah-! You still run?”

“yeah, every day.”

“Is the trail near here?” Elio shrugged in his shoulder. Chills must got to him.

“sort of.”

“Caroline bugged me all week. so I’m sent to be chivalrous,” offered Elio with an open-arm bow curtsy.

Oliver just inclined his head as an answer. The words he overheard after the concert rang inside the blond’s head; ‘they are definitely together-together.’

“So how’s your new program going?” asked Elio.

“Not bad. Considering.”

Elio hummed.

“So what should I get?” inquired Elio tilting his head to the side towards the bagel shop.

“It depends. If you like---.”

Elio’s wrist unit buzzed, “sorry,” then he fished out his foldable from his pocket, taking a few steps away.

“Merde,” he muttered under his breath.

“ _Elio!_ ” the voice chided Elio’s swearing.

“(sorry, Marzia. I forgot the blutooth. How are you? How’s my little one?)”

“( _our son misses you. We miss you. How’s New York?_ )”

 _So he has a son._ Oliver thought. _Well, Marzia is a beta and they’ve known each other since they were little._

“( _what are you doing out so early? Did you party all night? Are you just getting back home?_ )”

“(I only have one mom, my dearest. No, I’m getting some freshly baked bagels. Look!)” Elio turned his phone to show the front of the shop.

“( _oh, I’m jealous. Let me know how they are._ )”

 _Bastard. Tactfully omitting why he was here. That means Marzia does not know he’s here with Caroline. Typical._ Oliver thought.

The conversation went on for a while. As the sweat from the run cooled and making his skin feeling a bit tacky, Oliver considered to ‘just get Elio’s attention, wave a good bye’ and head home to Mini.

“Look who I bumped into!” said Elio taking those steps back to Oliver.

 _Darn! I lingered too long_. Oliver thought.

“ _Oliver_ \---”

“Hi, Marzia,” said Oliver to the screen awkwardly.

“ _How are you? You look good. Is Elio giving you trouble?_ ”

The three shared few more words. The whole time, though it wasn’t that long, Oliver felt Elio was standing a bit too close. All Oliver could think was, _I don’t have my balm on._

“Give our little one my love,” Elio said moving his foldable up back to the selfie angle.

“( _you know I will._ )”

After Elio ended the video chat, he offered “sorry, you were telling me about your recommendations,” folding his phone in his palm, putting it in his pocket, while meeting Oliver’s eyes, brushing down his hoodie covered head from top to front.

“This place has selections for both sweet and savory. They even have custard filled ones.”

“Ooo---,” said Elio rubbing his palms bunching up his shoulders, peering in.

“Well, go on. I better get going. You know how alpha females are,” said Oliver lightheartedly, despite how he was feeling.

“That I do, Call me or, or, text me, would yah?”

“yeah.”

“Oliver.”

“I will.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that. Say hello to Mini for me.”

Oliver hummed, watching the back of those dark curls disappeared inside the shop.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
> the very wise words from Pr. Perlman as a title.  
> .  
> [clarification]  
> 1\. Omegan Heat Placation service mentioned at the beginning of this chapter, in my headcannon, is a legitimate niche business that of professional cuddling/snuggling service.  
> 2\. Stealthing is an actual back-hand move by some men, non-consensual protective gear removal or damaging of it, while appearing to have agreed for a safer sex. Please don’t search it in the internet though, the stats are staggering. *sigh*  
> 3\. Parenthesis within quotation marks are Italian and its proper regional variation in this chapter. (I took the book-verse for Marzia.)  
> .  
> In a celebration of André Aciman’s announcement via his twitter about CMBYN book sequel, I present you the next chapter, too.  
> |  
> |  
> Shall we?  
> .


	11. Roar, You Gentle Lovers’ Hearts

####  **Chapter 10. Roar, You Gentle Lovers’ Hearts**

**Autumn | New York | 3 rd person POV**

A season has passed and the fall semester started.

To Elio’s dismay, Oliver kept him at an arm’s length. It was natural for an Omega to be extra-protective about their youngling. But no matter what angle Elio tried, Oliver seemed distant. But that didn’t stop Elio from trying to be near Oliver as much as possible. Unlike his 17-year-old self, Elio was a full-blown reputable alpha. Refined and suave in his own way; confident yet sensitive if necessary. He didn’t hesitate to snoop around the social media to gather as much information about Oliver.

During weekends, Elio, with his earphones pressed in, would just show up and run alongside Oliver for early before-dawn run. As if Elio didn’t forget their time all those years ago, he kept up quite well. For Oliver, being bigger and taller, finding someone to match his strides was hard. He didn’t say anything, neither did Elio. Except for the first couple of weekends, Oliver didn’t even show a startle each time Elio b-lined in, running.

*

“You know,” Elio said between catching his breath, one Sunday, at the end of a run, “whenever I come out here, I get to cash-in for a good brew coming week.”

Elio meant he was taking advantage of a health app that motivates people to collect points based on how many steps, meeting their set goals and such, in exchange of products and purchases such as coffee or a light healthy meal.

“Amateur,” Oliver quipped.

“Not everyone could afford a good cup like you, professor,” nudging his elbow on Oliver’s side, “some of us has to work for it. Even if it means, pimping out personal data. New York living is expensive.”

“whatever,” a smile came on Oliver’s face.

 _Victory._ Elio thought.

*

As Oliver became comfortable with Elio, they started making plans and easily fell into a rhythm of being friends. After a while, Elio noticed himself getting a dash impatient about those very few and far in between chances to see Oliver. But he never showed it. NYU keeping Elio busy helped.

Even when the timing and circumstances were right for them to meet up, Oliver still insisted on meeting outside of their homes.

What made it regular was after having Mini over for one of Elio’s open lessons session. As Elio’s late mentor did, he believed in getting young artists involved in their creative works without the restraints of the grade and merits. With the help of media & art producing major student, Rama Paton, Elio was able to open a youtube channel to showcase his students’ talent. Of course, ‘ _it took some doing_ ’ as Anchise used to say.

Every two weeks, Oliver and Mini sat in the back of the mini practice auditorium.

Mini proved to be a quick study in music. She learned to pick out her favorite classics; Bach, Hayden, and Debussy. After each session, Elio would indulge Mini with pieces like chopstick and he’d improvise and/or mash up great composers’ work like Mozart, Handel, Chopin, and Strauss, with her hastily chosen notes on the keys.

During one of the open sessions of Rachmaninoff, Mini burst into tears and Oliver had to excuse themselves. When Elio finally was able to have her talk to him, she said,

“You were different, Elio.”

“Different?” said Elio fondly.

“Like you were not _you._ ”

Elio has never been overly expressive or gyrated pianist. But for Mini, the passion he poured on to the keys appeared to be a little too much. _Nothing too somber then_ Elio made a mental note for himself.

Three students – Nicolas, Bianca, and Dodson – prepared Rossini’s _Barber of Seville,_ _Largo Al Factotum_ piece in a comical way. They dragged a swivel chair, rolling their eyes after three of them mockingly fought over who’d sit where, in which end of the keys. _Nicolas should be majoring in theater_ , Elio thought. In an animated gestures and face expression, three began. Everyone was on their feet after their expertly prepared brief presentation was done; three were taking bows. Elio envied their youth and praised their passion for preparing a piece, just for this. Professor then checked with Paton, if he got all of that recorded and said, “that is going on our NYU’s youtube channel as a separate edit.”

To Elio’s surprise, Mini loved this arrangement so very much, she practically was all giddy and wouldn’t stop wow-ing. Of course, Mini’s another favorite was no doubt the Disney reinterpretation session. It was from Elio’s request to his students, for the hell of it, to mesh up any Disney songs with only classics composers. Some of the theater and drama students attended and asked for contemporary reinterpretation for the coming sessions.

Adjunct Professor Elio’s open lesson session soon gained its popularity, the mini-practice auditorium naturally filled with more standing audience than the sitting ones.

After a half-semester-long of those every two-week meet-ups, Mini started insisting on video chatting with Elio. Each time, he indulged listening to her babble. This soon became once a week, then three times a week, then daily video chat.

**mid-morning | Oliver’s Office, Columbia University | 3 rd person POV**

Oliver sat in front of his 180 wrap around curved monitor and pursed his lips. The door to his office was open as it was a part of University code. During office hours, ‘open’ meant you are welcome to come in, as ‘closed’ meant ‘occupied’ and ‘better luck next time’ or ‘make an appointment.’

To Oliver’s surprise, his pre-pro-heat self was better than he’d ever expected. Grounded yet light and calm. Maybe the surprise was from the habitual dread spending majority of his adulthood about the heat. His hormones were simply doing its job. _I hate psychology._ Oliver muttered to himself, dismissing his analysis of his own psyche.

After being unsuccessful in searching the web, Oliver got himself up and walked to his wall of brimming bookcase and mumbled something under his breath. A short quiet exclaim of ‘ah ha’ and got the book out. An old hard-bound book. In his large hand, the book looked smaller than it actually was. He must have read it so many times; the side was different shades of darker beige stain of finger pad oil. It was in Greek. He flipped pages in chunks and bunches, to where he was trying to look. Once he got to the page, Oliver pressed his third and fourth fingers over the lines.

Spearmint and thick melon-rind musk.

 _?!?!?!_ , and Oliver looked up.

Elio was standing with his back leaning against the closed door, his hands on his back, one knee bent slightly, his foot against the door.

“You do tune out everything when you concentrate,” said Elio with a grin, “a nerd.”

Oliver stood with his book open on his palm and made ‘what are you doing here?’ expression.

“Had a last minute cancellation, facility maintenance thing,” Elio offered.

Elio’s eyes were glinting. The air in Oliver’s office paused. Then, Elio traced his hand on the doorknob and, _Click._

Oliver put away the book, almost tossing it to his desk, without breaking the eye contact. Then the blue eyes folded his arms in, tucking his hands under his biceps with a face expression, ‘okay, I’ll dance with this.’

A synchronized rise and fall of their chest.

Elio’s hazel eyes narrowed and formed two beautiful crescent moons. Oliver shook his head lightly, still holding Elio’s gaze.

The dark curls, then, slowly released one of his hands from the small of his back and reached out, a gentle, edge-curled open palm.

A deliberate blink.

Oliver took in a full breath through his nose and closed the distance in a couple of swift strides.

_Don’t ever say you didn’t know._

Standing face to face, their breath quickened. They were so close; it has been years since they were this close. If Oliver leaned in any closer, Elio’d hear Oliver’s heartbeat pulsating in his broad chest. The blue eyes stared right into Elio’s, as though he longed to meet them for so long and wished to capture them again.

Elio’s slender fingers slowly and purposefully touched Oliver’s nether lip and let them travel ever so to the left-and-right, and right-and-left, again and again as the blond stood there, watching Elio smile in a way that made Oliver shiver. Emotions that Omega haphazardly swept under the rug, all those years ago, were finally unveiling their unrequited yet unadulterated desire.

In a ‘I’ll-meet-you-halfway-but-no-further’ gesture, Alpha’s long fingers wrapped around Oliver’s closely shaven jaw, his thumb on the blue eye’s lower lip. Oliver didn’t shift but intensely held Elio’s gaze.

Elio, with a possessive tug of his hand, biting down his own lower lip, bucked his hips forward against Oliver’s body; Elio was already hard.

The blond only let out a single quiet huff. As if on cue, the tip of his moist pink tongue darted out a little to lick Elio’s thumb. At that, Alpha slowly tilted his head and leaned in close, between Oliver’s shoulder and temple. When his dark curls playfully brushed against Oliver’s ear---

“I almost came at the sight of you,” Elio whispered into it as if any louder, the whole world would hear him say those words.

A throaty groan vibrated from Oliver. The mischievous grin came on Elio’s face as he parted his lips, before he gently placed them on the blond’s earlobe. Oliver leaned in to the sensation.

Tilting his head, Elio nuzzled his nose on Oliver’s flesh, just below the temple, nibbled Oliver’s delicate earshell. The blue eyes trembled.

“I still remember,” Elio added ever-so-softly before licking it with his tongue.

Another viscous moan escaped Oliver’s lips.

Omega lowered his head, nudged his nose hungrily under Alpha’s elegant cheek bone, making the dark curls slid back slightly, away from Elio’s face. As the hot breath escaped the Alpha’s mouth, Oliver finally pressed his lips against Elio’s.

Even after all these years, Elio’ lips remembered. His wet tongue swam happily along with the languid movement of Oliver’s ravenous pull. His dark curls brushing against Oliver’s peach-fuzz. Elio carded his fingers through Oliver’s golden locks on top of his head. A slight tug. The golden rings around Oliver’s exquisite blue eyes shimmered as Omega let out a low growl of arousal. Two kissed and kissed. All those unspoken desperate yearnings and unfinished conversations;

_I missed this,_

_I missed you,_

_I missed us,_

_Everything,_

_All day,_

_Everyday,_

_All this time._

When they were about to run out of oxygen, Oliver broke their hungry kiss, and in a split second, Elio was seeing the crown of Oliver’s head. As Elio’s wamer-than-usual hands were running through and between the smooth golden lock, occasionally massaging the scalp with a wordless encouragement, Oliver quickly unhooked the button of Elio’s jeans, unzipped the flyer and pressed his open mouth on the bulging fabric.

“oh, fuck!” uttered Elio, almost like an exasperated happy-sigh.

Oliver pressed his palm, brushing on Elio’s tight-lean ab, up to his smooth chest. When Omega’s fingers reached the sternum, Oliver gave a gentle tap, busying the other hand to undress Elio.

“sorry,” Elio said in a hushed tone, threading all ten digits through Oliver’s hair.

A short moments later, Elio’s boxer and pants were at his ankles.

Feeling the draft, Elio looked down. The sight the hazel eyes witnessed made his heart skip another beat. Oliver was kneeling, had his hands on his thighs, gently clasped together, reacquainting and marveling Elio’s naked front.

Elio’s excitement pooled into a tiny droplet, at the tip of his erection. A small quirk came on Oliver’s softly pressed together lips. Then---

From the base, pressing his tongue flat in full contact, Oliver licked the entire length, all the way to the tip, then Elio’s milky-bead disappeared between Oliver’s kiss swollen lips.

An audible hot exhale escaped though Alpha’s gaped mouth.

Oliver rolled his tongue around the top, took hold of Elio’s sizzling salute with a gentle grasp, deliberately slow-pumped the length a few times, ran the pad of his thumb on the top slit, before the room began to fill with low slurping sound and trebles of moan. To Elio’s surprise, Oliver didn’t forget how much Alpha loved his curvy-double-u between his inner thighs entertained.

Visions blurred, Elio was completely immersed in the ecstasy coursing through his system. Oliver’s low growl in between, pop-corn nuttiness in the air, wondering how he was able to live those years without this, without him, without Oliver: his Omega.

What seemed-like light years of enchanting trance, a satisfied grunt and a punctuating sigh, Elio looked down and found Oliver licking the corner of his mouth with seductive upward glance after a hard swallow.

“come up, I want to taste it,” Elio whispered.

Oliver stood, with his large palm still running the length of Elio’s firmness, obliging at the request.

“sick and kinky,’ Oliver grinned, tossing those syllables low into Elio’s mouth.

“You are the one who sucked me off in the office, professor,”

Oliver elbowed Elio on his ribs before reaching across the sitting area and got two bottles of chilled water out of the mini fridge.

“Thanks,” said Elio, taking a bottle from Oliver’s stretched out hand..

Oliver took a swig and got close. Elio, twisting the cap, leaned into Oliver, his head gently tilted upwards, thinking the blond was going to give him another kiss. Oliver reached one hand behind Elio and there was a metal clack, instead.

“oh, you minx,” Elio huffed out a laugh putting his lips on the rim of the bottle, with sated levity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
> I bumped the rating to M. (better be safe than sorry, right?; although, in my humble personal opinion, the level of fluff in this chapter is T…*yes, I know I know. it only reveals how naughty my mind is*)
> 
> [Just-in-case: chapter reference]  
> -Barber of Seville, Largo Al Factotum https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DBNVVc_BCgw  
> -Is it weird I got too self-conscious about using the word "gently" too freaking many times? hmm? who's counting?  
> .  
> Idea from book-verse: music transcribing was mentioned several times so… in my head cannon, Elio has absolute pitch (a.k.a. perfect pitch). Having spent his critical development years VERY close to music daily, naturally, makes Elio good at improvisation, on top of re-interpretation of classical piece.  
> .  
> I was _this_ close to put “Expositional Narration” in place of usual subtitle but… self-censorship won. I shan’t ever do bad jokes!  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> *grimace* writing sexy scene was… very, very difficult. Because I didn’t want this chapter to become tacky and cheap *with flailing arms of Kermit the frog, running away*  
> .


	12. Pinch me, so I know it’s real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> of Mini, by Mini, for Mini

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
> Rating drop: **T**  
> .

####  **Chapter 11. Pinch me, so I know it’s real.**

**Voice Over (Narration) | by Oliver**

How do you tell someone?

How do you, begin to tell someone, that they became your whole world?

How…?

That fateful summer,

Four weeks of trying, trying so hard, to heed the wise words, while doing your absolute best to fight your own biology, where your heart unilaterally declared a war on your sensibility and rationality and kept pointing, desperately reaching out, longing, yearning…

For just a touch, a glance, a smile, a breeze carrying their scent, their voice.

Feeling starved for something that you didn’t know you were famished for.

And after two weeks of knowing them, holding them close, feeling their heartbeat against your chest, tasting their lips, their tongue, melding into them, they to you.

Learning that you forgot where you began and they ended, or you ended and they began.

Suddenly, you realized, you were no longer the person you knew or you thought you were, your entire life.

That your life was now divided into ‘before you knew them’ and ‘after you knew them.’

How was I to let Elio know?

How was I?

.

The very hand I was holding, was the only thing I could have; of him, about him, by him.

Eight. Years.

That she was the oxygen, the long-awaited rain, the life-line, the meaning, the singular reason I carried on.

.

How?

**Slush-rain day | New York | Brunch-topia | 3 rd person POV | part one**

Elio was standing in front of the building. New York was cold and wet. According to people who lived here longer, it should be snow. ‘It’s Northeast Winter, for crying out loud,’ one of his colleagues said to him. Because of where they were going to meet, he stood under the bridge-ask concourse, between buildings, and could spectate traitorous weather about a yard away without being drench in slushy rain. When Elio was taking in the last drag, standing next to the designated smoking area sign, he noticed a canary yellow umbrella through the rain.

It was like a small bright sun amidst the grey gloom. Mini was wearing matching yellow raincoat with green rain boots. Oliver’s slack, from waist down on Mini’s side, was soaked but he held her hand tight.

“Elio!” Mini exclaimed.

The bright sun carried an innocent, ear-to-ear smile towards him.

*

**a few days ago | NYU, School of Arts | Elio POV | Scene One**

I veered off from today’s topic. Instead of dryly going over the stylistic exploration, I rather focused on the effect of how external constraints and pressures made into the works of composition. The end goal was going to be the same. By introducing biopic back story of famous classics pieces of the given period, I was hoping to offer better understanding via the motivation, the drive, the thirst of each composer of today’s topic. I went over Beethoven’s style, marching band beats, propaganda-ask progression and how they were closely tied with the war and battle going on in his time. My presentation was geared so as to even the general public, and for those who were taking this class as an elective, were ought to be able to understand without much knowledge. Thankfully, the room responded well.

“uh---, excuse me, Mr. Perlman?”

I turned around and a campus security gestured me, peeking through the gapped door.

“now, who blabbed?” I said toward the class that broke out into ‘as if it was rehearsed but genuine’ laughs. The timing couldn’t be more perfect.

“If one is forever cautious, can one remain a human being? Ponder for a moment while listening to this piece,” and I turned on Shostakovich’s Symphony No. 7 before I walked to the front entrance of the classroom.

As soon as I walked out,

“Mini---.”

Behind the campus security officer, Mini stood with puffy eyes and tear-streaked cheeks.

*

**Slush-rain day | New York | Brunch-topia | 3 rd person POV | part two**

“Are we late?” asked Oliver, standing a step behind them.

Elio shook his head as an answer and gestured smoke with his hand. Oliver ‘ah-‘-ed.

Mini’s fingers were already holding Elio’s hand. Despite being damp from walking in the rain, her hand was warm and soft. Elio didn’t fail to notice that Mini was now wearing a thin silicone wristband: GPS child locator.

The place was cozy but open, and had large individual booths. _Quite_ _Welcoming, Public but private enough,_ Elio thought. Oliver carefully hung Mini’s raincoat on the hook at the end of the booth and asked Mini whether she would like to take of her boots off. Mini held Oliver’s hand, took them off herself, then placed them neatly against the end of the booth chair, next to vinyl-sleeved umbrellas. Then Mini showed Elio her mary-jane; one had king of hearts, the other queens of spades. When they sat down, they ordered two large glasses of non-dairy beverage and a pot of decaf coffee.

“It’s a sunflower,” Mini began, “Mama told me there is only one Sun. and, and, when it is hiding behind the clouds, I take out my sunflower umbrella to tell the Sun to come out. Because Sunflower follows the Sun whole day. All day.”

While they were waiting, Oliver showed Elio her pictures throughout her years. Mini got herself up on her chair and kneeled to lean forward to tell Elio about each picture. When she became a bit too animated, Olive reminded her quietly.

“Yes, mama,” then she sat down in her seat. She tried her best to hide her little pout.

*

**a few days ago | NYU, School of Arts | Elio POV | Scene Two**

We were standing in front of the building, Mini holding my hand. As soon as Mini spotted Oliver from a distance, her grip tightened.

His hair all tussled, color drained from his face, out-of-breath, half-running, half-sprinting, his quicken exhales making small fog-puffs one after another, trying to pass the typical unyielding New Yorkers, indifferent and cold-shouldered mass, as quickly as possible.

I half expected Oliver to start with a typical ‘scene’ from a movie or play I saw so many times. Rushing over to reprimand Mini amicably but sternly, saying how worried sick he was, that it was not the way, using the ‘young lady’ after the sentence as an emphasis.

But---,

Oliver’s pace slowed as he got close to us and after a short pause, he fell to his knees in front of her, a step below. His eyes turning red, tears welling up. Mini glanced up at him timidly without moving her head then dropped her gaze. Her lips and eyebrows started to change into a frown line; drawing out her inner most emotion. The one that she kept-in-check, even when she saw me right outside my classroom.

Then she broke out into a loud-sob and started bawling, at the sight of Oliver; several contradicting emotions running through him. Being completely wracked and being relieved to see her safe. Then she threw her arms around him. Oliver just pulled her in close, and let out a hushed shuddering sigh as if he was holding his breath for a very long while.

It took a while for Oliver to calm her. Mini held him like a vice grip with her small hands. He quietly whispered into her ears in their speak; a mixture of Italian and English.

Once Mini settled, fidgeting, sitting in one of spare private office in my department, she explained that one of her classmates made fun of her for being a child of a single parent, during PE class. Then, a few more kids joined in and belittled her of having an Omegan parent. It appeared that the said group of kids’ parents’ careless _at-home_ -gossipy-assumptions were thrown at Mini; that her mother being so mealy drove the alpha away, that the alpha left Mini and her poor Omegan parent for better gender.

In Mini’s own logic, to the derogatory terms and salacious insinuations, the best way to remedy the situation was to sneak out with one goal in mind. She thought bringing back evidence that’d show she was not a weakling was the singularly sure-fire way to shut them up. The evidence that she has a grown alpha in her life: me. Mini added she was so, so, so furious.

But on her way here to NYU, she became scared and realized she left all her belongings at her school, except for what she had in her pocket. Due to her school policy, her cell phone was in her backpack. While she was finding her way to me, Mini’s school informed Oliver of her missing. Thankfully, a couple of students who attended my open sessions recognized Mini walking by herself on the street and led her to the campus. According to Choi, the campus security who brought Mini, she just kept repeating my name and would not tell him any information about her, not even her own name, soundlessly crying, kept insisted on finding and seeing me.

*

**Slush-rain day | New York | Brunch-topia | 3 rd person POV | part three**

Since Mini’s little incident, she sagged into small defeats too easily. Even to the things that her usual self simply shrugged off with her boundless flamboyance. Seeing her disheartened form, a tempered sigh escaped Oliver’s nose and he looked over Elio and asked, “would you--?”

“yeah, sure.”

They changed seats and Mini brightened up and scooted close to Elio. Oliver let his daughter take the helm of his phone. She gladly took it, not forgetting to say, “thank you, mama. You are the best” and continued showing and telling Elio about each photo.

When Mini saw Jess in one of the photo, she took in an audible sharp inhale but calmly said, “that’s me, Jess, and Mama, at the Ellis Island. Like my name!”

Jess was a dark-blond, tanned-, latte-colored complexion with grey eyes. This was the first time Elio saw how Oliver’s late spouse looked-like.

“Ellis?” asked Elio sensibly with one eyebrow raised.

Oliver gave a small smile.

When the food came out, Oliver cut up Mini’s in small pieces and suggested whether Elio would help her with the bib.

“Yes, please, Elio!” Mini agreed happily.

“How’s Caroline?” Oliver asked placing the plate in front of Mini.

“Caroline is Caroline. Feisty and busy as ever. I just talked to her two days ago while she was in Budapest.”

“A tour?”

“No, with her going-steady, on a vacation,” Elio disliked the traditional terms; mate, lover, especially when that didn’t fit quite well with that particular relationship. Caroline didn’t say anything about getting married in traditional sense, either.

Oliver paused.

Elio looked at him and realized, “oh, you thought Caroline and I were---,” and quickly burst out into laughs.

“I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you. We met in college. She was my upper class-cohort. Two years. We hit it off musically.”

Elio was surprised again how good a table manner Ellis had. She didn’t pipe up or interjected while she was eating.

“Even if I was into her romantically, I don’t know… she is something else,” Elio was mulling the thought over as if it never crossed his mind, “We definitely would have quite a passionate love life,” a quick glance at Ellis’ direction that he selected his vocabularies carefully and an intentional glance at Oliver to see the reaction of his meaning, “but…, too grabby, too hoggish-,” gesturing his hand trying to describe his intent, the choice of those words, “I don’t think I could handle her. She can be quite French sometimes.”

Oliver’s brows shot up towards his hairline.

“You know, those typical French romantic movies’ alpha female character?”

“ah---,” Oliver’s face expression softened with a little smile.

“When did you bond with Marzia?”

Elio almost choked on his coffee, “What?”

“When we talked to Marzia over Video chat, you said-”

“Man---,” Elio said it like a sigh but still cheerful, “I knew your French was rusty but that hurts, professor,” Elio retorted with a quick snappy glance.

Oliver only gave him genuine ‘I don’t understand’ look.

“He’s my _god_ son,” Elio muttered Italian equivalent of ‘unbelievable’ under his breath.

“Wait, if you thought that I was with Caroline and have a son with Marzia-,” Elio paused, “oh man, you thought I was-, Wow.”

“I’m sorry,” Oliver dropped his gaze.

“Was that the reason you kept your distance?” asked Elio with a little shake of his head, though with a big grin on his face, helping Ellis putting more ketchup on her plate.

Oliver paused but didn’t look away, he couldn’t. A blink, then Oliver admitted eventually.

After brunch, three moved to an arcade. Oliver and Elio played Free Throw Frenzy while Mini sat on a tall stool next to the machine, facing them, watching with giddiness and generous claps. Elio and Mini rode on the WaveRunner JetSki Simulator game. Upon insistence of Mini, three shared a caramel covered apple before moving to a movie theater. Oliver carried a giant bag of popcorn while Elio held a drink cup, holding Mini’s hand, walking together.

*

After Oliver tucked Mini in for the night, his phone plinked.

Phone buzzed Elio’s name flashed on the screen and Oliver debated not-answering but picked up after the fifth buzz.

“hey.”

“ _you just thought what_?”

“Elio.”

“ _Fuck, Oliver_ ,” a pause, “ _I’m not 17 anymore. Or is that how you see me, all these years later_?”

“No, I just thought you wouldn’t want to be involved with a guy like me.”

“ _what kind of guy do you think I see you as_?”

No answer.

“ _Jesus, I thought we were past this._ ”

“I’m sorry.”

“ _I need to drag your ass back to Italy and have Mafalda talk some sense into you or something_.”

They both laughed a little.

“ _before you write your own story, ask, mhm? please?_ ”

“She’s yours.”

*

**Evening, Slush-rain day | New York | Elio’s Condo | Elio POV**

I felt like I was just hit by a freight train right in the head. I almost hurl. Just like that, out of nowhere, Oliver broke the news to me.

“what?” I heard him correctly the first time but I stammered out the stupid syllable anyway.

“ _Mini is yours._ ”

“But you said-, that winter-, years ago-, emails-” I was stumbling over my words like a broken record.

“ _I couldn’t have her as a government ward. So Jess offered to become my guardian_ ,” Oliver began, “ _we… we never bonded. She was never interested in me that way. If you get my meaning_.”

Thinking back, I did sense a change in his scent; something feverish and sweet, unlike his usual tang. I just assumed, then, it was because Oliver was happy with his alpha.

It all made sense. When I was in States while Oliver and his wife were visiting, why he was all choked up over the phone. I thought he became emotional because of the memory and something going on between him and his spouse.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“ _I… I tried._ ”

Then, it hit me. Each time my parents uncharacteristically inquired about whether I heard from Oliver, I simply became vexed and tersely questioned them. Papa and Mama knew.

“ _I didn’t mean it to be…_ ,” a sigh, “ _I didn’t intend anything bad by it_.”

I could picture Oliver was fidgeting, pensive.

“ _You were just about to start your life and… I didn’t want to burden you_.”

“Stop,” the word came out a bit too firm than I intended.

Oliver didn’t say anything.

“I’ll be there in an hour,” then I hung up, shoved the phone in my pocket. I stood up, grabbed my bomber jacket in a firm fistful without giving much thought about the weather outside. The door closed behind me latching hard with a thud.

*

**Evening, Slush-rain day | New York | Oliver’s place | 3rd person POV**

When Oliver opened the door, Elio crossed that thin line they have been dancing around for the past few months, in one single step, cupping Oliver’s face, pulled him close with his long fingers threading Oliver’s golden locks and pressed his lips on his. Elio’s cold nose nuzzled against Oliver’s warm skin and chilled finger-tips running through the blond's scalp making Oliver’s nutty scent spurt into the air around, when Elio’s pink plum lips were all but frigid cold.

Desperate, but never rough, but adoring, tender kiss; finally, finally finding his way in full circle back to Oliver’s.

When he let go, Oliver’s chest was heaving two beats faster than usual. Oliver leaned forward and put their foreheads together, one of his palm against Elio’s chest. Two stood there for what seemed like an eternity in a frozen bliss; their heart-beat in sync, warm exhales on each other’s face, despite letting in cold air via open front door. When Elio finally met his gaze, Oliver simply took a step aside and let him in.

Noticing Elio’s expression, “she usually sleeps like the dead,” Oliver assured him, in hushed voice.

Oliver closed the front door quietly as Elio stood just pass the doormat where tiny shoes were carelessly shucked-off.

Oliver lightly tipped his head, leading Elio into the house and asked if Elio would want something warm to drink.

To Elio's 'anything' answer, “make yourself comfortable,” Oliver added, turning his upper body towards the kitchen.

Elio placed his palm on Oliver’s upper arm. The air in the living room froze.

Oliver turned to look at Elio.

A blink.

“how much longer would you have let me to believe?” asked Elio, his voice trembling, in pain.

He felt Oliver’s muscle twitch. Elio meant the blank years after the last email, the email sent to his old school address he rarely checked.

A tighten jaw.

A long exhale.

Oliver’s lips parted but before he had a chance to utter any words, Elio gave a quick shake.

Then---,

“Elio, Elio, Elio,” the dark hair said quietly.

Oliver shut his eyes tight letting out an audible sigh resonated from the back of his throat.

“I’m here,” said Elio in a low calm voice, almost like a prayer,

“so come back to me.”

.

.

.

.

.

.

\------------------------------------------

[Chapter 11 Deleted Scene]

**|| Same day, mid-night | Oliver’s place ||**

They were curled up together on the couch, laying length-wise, Elio nuzzling his nose behind Oliver’s ear, whispering in Italian, endlessly.

Elio was more than elated when he heard Oliver’s purr for the first time. It was something Omegas couldn’t fake or pretend. Oliver was truly happy.

Instinctively, Mini padded out of her room rubbing at her eyes. Elio reached out his arm and Mini just curled herself in with Oliver and Elio. Then, three of them were comfortably on top of each other huddled to share their heat in the cold cold winter, and fell asleep on the couch with Oliver’s gorgeous purr lulling serenely.

.

==> Next Morning<==

“It’s not Mafalda’s but…” said Oliver glancing back from the stove.

“No, this is great.” Elio beamed with a soft grin, sitting at the dining table.

“Mama makes the best waffle in the whole world, Elio,” said Mini giving a firm squeeze on the middle of the maple syrup bottle with her two hands.

Oliver, in quick big strides, was in the front of the table, gently stopping her from putting too much while placating her.

He offered her some freshly diced fruits, she shook her head. Elio lifted the serving spoon, scooped freshly made whipped-cream from the bowl and placed a giant dollop on top of already syrupy waffle, while looking up at Oliver in a ‘I’ll show you how it’s done.’ Oliver just shook his head in disbelief, with a fond smile. Elio knew exactly what Oliver was thinking: ‘ _Like father like daughter.’_

*

After breakfast, Mini insisted she’d show Elio around the house. When she pulled out an LP from her shelf, Elio couldn’t help but to gasp.

“This is my favorite album,” said Mini with a giant smile.

Elio’s first record. Still sealed. Mini asked Elio to be gentle with the record and added she listened to the digital version, thousands of times.

“How did you get this?” asked Elio looking up at Oliver who was leaning against the door frame with his mug.

“I have my ways.”

“you have your ways,” Elio parroted, “you won’t tell me?”

Oliver shook his head once with a soft smile.

“So he won’t tell me,” said Elio pressing a kiss on top of Mini who now enveloped herself on Elio’s lab.

It was Bert who was able to reserve a copy of Elio’s ‘limited edition for collectors’ album. As it was Elio’s first studio recorded performance, as a part of Fazioli artist session project. He had won the first prize with a Mozart piece. Hence, his sponsor ever since.

\------------------------------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My cheeky plagiarism of a partial quote from the Gettysburg Address as a chapter summary.  
> .  
> I corrected some mistakes, grammar, and typos in several chapters. I don't know how the notification thingy works in AO3 about the update. So I hope you didn't get any pesky email notifications. I saweee---  
> .  
> [Just-in-case: chapter details]  
> -Alexander Solzhenitsyn, _The First Circle_ quote during Elio’s lecture.  
> -About "Jess": Yessica, a strong clear-headed Latina, two years older than Oliver in this verse.  
> -an irrelevant detail: had “Eastside” by Benny Blanco (feat. Khalid, Halsey) on an infinite loop the whole time I was writing this chapter.  
> .  
> So… a little reveal about Mini’s name. As Elio did in the book, Oliver layered meanings on her name, too; emotions, the pun, Elio’s informal name in the Perlman house. But without Oliver’s intent, her pet name became an homage to Vimini, later on.  
> .  
> *defeated sigh* as a ‘non-writer’-writer, chapter like this came to me as snapshots and series of images. *frustrated sigh through nose* having lost the original file, I took out the “talk” scene of this chapter. It felt too exposition-ing, wordy, clunky. Yeah, I DID say that this fic was brewing for almost a year, right? Lots of butchering, collaging…  
> *arggfff, urffttt, bargghhh* me don’t know no more  
> .


	13. Amor Ch’a Null’amato Amar Perdona

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amor ch’a null’amato amar perdona  
> .  
> Love, which exempts no one who’s loved from loving  
> -Francesca’s words, _Inferno_

####  **Chapter 12. Amor Ch’a Null’amato Amar Perdona**

**NYU Faculty Breakroom | 3 rd person POV**

“fuuucccckkkk,” a low tenor rumble of sigh came out of Karim.

“yeah,” Elio nodded with almost brusque single exhale-like syllable in a ‘tell-me-about-it’ tone.

“so all this time---”

Elio hummed.

“you two are just alike,” said Karim, Swedish, who Elio met in _Conservatoire de Paris_ turned his publicist, knew the synopsis of Oliver and Elio’s summer saga together.

Elio snorted out a huff.

“do you think she was the reason why you couldn’t let go?

Elio rubbed at the nape of his neck, still not looking up, deep in thought.

“I mean, I know it sounds freakishly super-natural but there are reported cases…”

Karim meant the rare phenomenon between highly compatible alpha-and-omega pair, finding their way back to each other despite the odds. Folk-lore, bed time stories… and a story of a soldier. During Vietnam War, this foot-soldier went MIA. More than two decades later, he came home. In an interview he said, “I kept dreaming about my two children. I had to come home.” His then fiancé who didn’t know that she was with a child, now 20 years older, had a twin all by herself 6 months after the soldier’s deployment and raised their two babies on her own. Scholars later found historical texts that recorded such bond without bite-marks and bonding rituals. The supposition was based on the power of imprinting and the soul-bonding. But they were still just theories.

“So…?” Karim trailed off, ducking his head a little to urge Elio for an eye-contact, as a best friend should.

Elio looked up with a slight crinkle on his forehead.

“Jesus, E. He raised your daughter, your blood.”

“I know.”

“Then, what’s stopping you?”

Elio palmed his face in a long stroke. Another long drawn out sigh streamed out his nose.

“what the fuck are you worried about?”

Elio leaned back on his seat and ran his fingers through his hair, his gaze falling far.

*

A montage of snow piling up, melting, bare tree branches, little buds forming then budding, fresh delicate green leaves turning thicker and darker green.

**Early Evening, Next Summer | New York | Elio’s Condo | 3 rd person POV**

Elio walks out from the bathroom, swinging the bath towel around his waist, care-free, tucking one corner, loosely fastening it, end of his freshly washed dark curls forming a drop, here: near his cheek, there: on the back of his neck.

Unlike his 17 year old self, Elio filled in quite nicely, his alpha hormones hard at work. Broader shoulder, lean cuts on every large muscle, close resemblance to the featherweight martial arts fighter. Slender-cut-and-lean ectomorph. He might have grown an inch or two as male alphas continue to grow until their mid-twenties.

After a couple of steps to the walk-in closet, he simply stands in front of two long garment bags, a short pause, reaches up and quietly unzips each. He studies two lovely suits, putting his hand on his waist Then tosses his head back lightly, bringing Star of David between his lips.

It used to be Oliver’s. After they bonded, two swapped their Star of David, with an upgrade. Each engraved with their respectable names. It was Oliver’s idea.

This evening is the first U.S. solo stage for Elio Perlman. Well, technically, Elio turned it into a benefit slash festival. Instead of having professional orchestra, he invited the young talents of NYU School of Arts graduating class. All. Of. Them. They practiced like crazy for past four weeks. With Caroline’s vetting which helped pushing the “proper” authorities to go with Elio’s plan, Paton is DP-ing the whole event.

A muffled footsteps pads closer to the walk-in closet.

Oliver is wearing a white dress shirt with thin skyblue strips, the collar expertly pressed, crisp lines running his “manly” torso. He walks in, fastening his sleeves with cufflinks that used to belong to Pr. Perlman, his shirt three top buttons open, not looking up. Elio catches a glint of his, now Oliver’s, Star of David peeking out between the open collar. Alpha grazes his eyes down below Oliver’s torso. Oliver’s dress shirt is neatly held with shirt garters, wrapped itself around Omega’s lean long cut thighs, which set just below the tight black boxer shorts.

Elio lets out a long groan.

That is the moment Oliver looks up with nonchalant ‘hmm?’ expression on his clean shaven face. Now the blond is buttoning up the rest, Star of David nestling behind.

Elio steps close to Oliver, tilting his head back, his damp curls brushing his forehead, looking up at the blue eyes. Oliver quietly scoffs. Elio looks so sinfully aroused.

“you didn’t even dry yet,” Oliver points out.

“you smell so good,” says Elio tugging in Oliver, pulling him down just a little, to get his lips close to the blond.

“no, no, no, we’re gonna be late.”

“we just won’t socialize before the opening, then.”

“Elio---,” trying to untangle himself from Elio’s possessive hands, in hushed tone, feeling the excitement pooling down low, “I didn’t bring any spare,” meaning Oliver’s dress shirt.

“Then, hurry the fuck up and get out of this before I rip it away from you.”

A low groan, “Elio---,” exhaling out the name, giving into Elio peppering quick kisses, “We are too old for this”

“You, yes!! But not me. I haven’t even hit my prime yet,” gets even close, lightly biting Oliver’s lower lip.

“Brat.”

“don’t know what you mean,” says Elio putting his hand under Oliver’s shirt.

Oliver walks backwards until the back of his leg touched the bed, Elio climbing up on Oliver with a wide grin on his face, taking Omega’s shirt off over the shoulder, running his long fingers inside and under Oliver’s tight boxer. Oliver groans out a moan.

“Admiring the view?” says Elio rips the Velcro of Oliver’s shirt garter, in two separate quick swipes. Left one, then right.

“Very much,” low throaty answer. Now his semi- crumpled shirt is free, Elio twists his upper body a bit to hang, still-warm-from-the-blue-eyes-body-heat, shirt on the back of a lounge chair.

Oliver leaning back, his upper body supported by his arms on the bed, Elio readjusts his straddling thighs. Two looks at each other. Oliver opens his mouth to say something, Elio interrupts.

“Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me–.”

Oliver looks up at Elio’s hazel eyes, his maroon ring threading deep into his spectacular hazel iris, pupils widening as Oliver got close.

“nuh-, uh-, no touching until you give me a proper kiss,” says Elio swatting Oliver’s hands coming up on his flank.

As Oliver brings his lips close to Elio’s, the dark curls brushes on Oliver’s forehead. A single drop that has been dangling on Elio’s curls makes a lazy transition and lands on Oliver’s cheek. Elio rolls his hips, rubbing his erection on Oliver’s, just as hard, bulging boxer.

“mh, hm, no touching,” Elio mumbles the words as he rolled his tongue and licks inside Oliver’s upper teeth.

A low growl.

“Oliver, Oliver, Oliver.”

The maroon rings glint in Elio’s iris.

*

Slapping sound and low rumbles and feverish moans are bouncing off the four walls of the bedroom as the thick scent cocktail of spearmint, muskmelon, and unpopped popcorn nuttiness filled the air.

Oliver knows why Elio is uncharacteristically being like this, only hours before his big event. The one that Elio put all; lots of work, time and effort. Even Mini pouted about not being able to see her new-favorite alpha in her entire life during the prep.

Anxiety.

Because tonight is going to be the first time ever that Elio Perlman is officially accompanied by his Omega. It’s a happy and ‘once in a life time’ celebratory occasion for both Elio and Oliver, as a couple. A lot of people will be there, including the high society and the State officials. His Omega will be swarmed by “other” people. There will be lots of handshakes, socially chummy-chummy touching on Oliver’s shoulder, his upper arms, his elbows. The very core of Elio's anxiety is rooted not just on "meeting" undesignated huddled mass of people but on more primal reason. It is long been customarily frowned upon to wear scent marks even between the married pair.

Elio shakes at the thought. His grip on Oliver’s pelvic bone tightens and he speeds up, make Oliver let out a hard salutary grunt.

Elio Perlman is undoubtedly giving into his Alpha nature. _He’s mine, all mine, and mine-alone._ Alpha repeats in his head, hitting Omega’s prostate every single thrust, as Oliver arches his back up towards Elio to take all of Alpha’s length at each and every smooth plunge.

Hot breaths, their ritual phrase recited into Oliver’s ear, in a brutal, punishing speed. A full contact sweep of Alpha’s tongue on the blue eyes’ shoulder, next to the bond mark, now set permanently, with a small tattoo, written in italic: parce que c’était lui, parce que c’était moi.

With nibbling kisses on those letters, Elio peaks. A muffled grunt. And Omega takes every single drop of Elio’s spill.

Synchronized cycles of breath, they clasp together on the bed: Oliver's sweaty flank on the sheets, Elio's sweatdripping front on Oliver’s broad back. _Always and forever._ Elio bucks his hips once then one more as if to make a point.

To Elio’s surprise, Oliver pushes, between catching his breath, almost like the under-the-table shove, and hands something on Elio’s gently clasped palm, the one just momentarily left the blond’s hip to wipe the sweat, running down from the dark curls.

A satisfactory grin comes on Elio’s face immediately: it’s one of their favorite plugs.

No, every cell of their body is now fully reacquainted and molded themselves to each other’s and don’t necessarily need prepping for their animalistically passionate encounters.

This, this very object in Alpha’s hand means that Professor, the ‘always-so-prim-and-proper’ Oliver is going to smell like Elio. It’s going to be subtle but Elio’s cum in Oliver’s body will---

Elio shudders with warm satisfaction. He fights the itch on his canines. In a large crowd, Oliver is going to show he has been claimed. The scent will say, _do think twice before you even dare touching what is mine._

Carefully pushing it inside, Elio turns Oliver over gently to sit up face-to-face, then straddles him. A rumbling moan, Oliver nuzzles his nose on Elio’s flushed cheek and whispers, “now, always, and forever.”

Oliver’s large hands gently cups Elio’s face, lacing into his still damp unruly curls. Both grin, holding each other’s gaze, eyes glinting, smile lines form into beautiful curvatures.

After their languid long kiss, Oliver traces both thumb on Elio’s jaw down the magnificent neck line. He then gently presses his thumb pads up on each of scenting points, right under Elio’s ear lobe.

A fresh thick spearmint scent.

Then, Oliver lets go of Elio, one hand at a time, perfectly still, forever holding the gaze. The blond brings his left thumb to his right pulse point under his jaw, his right thumb to his left.

Elio takes in an audible breath.

Oliver simply smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
> direct quote from book-verse’s Dante quote  
> .  
> My meek attempt for Smut and domestic fluff (please be kind and let me know if this needs a rating jump.)  
> Only Epilogue left. Yay---  
> Posting so far was like ‘ripping a band-aid.’ Still nerve wracking, I don’t know how other authors do--- *mumbling & groaning irrecognizably*  
> .


	14. Epilogue. Se L’amore: my love is yours if you’re willing to take it.

####  **Epilogue. Se L’amore: my love is yours if you’re willing to take it.**

Some type of snack being poured into a large bowl, sound of large glass filling up with a liquid.

Muffled shuffling sound, foot padding closer.

Cling.

The giant pause button disappears and shows the menu button.

t’rimp, t’rimp, t’rimp.

“Special Features” on the screen is selected.

t’rimp.

“Deleted Scenes”

t’rimp

“Play All”

t’rimp

**|||Alternate Ending|||**

“Marry me.”

“what?”

Six more blissfully sated heats later and Ellie being accepted to performing arts school, Oliver and Elio had a decision to make. Elio – now 28, a burgeoning international concert pianist who was just offered a board approved tenure in NYU – was the one brought up the subject.

“Come on, you goof, what is there to think about?”

Elio’s logic was iron clad. If Oliver has to move close to Ellie’s new school for her to commute easily, merging house wasn’t a bad idea. _Moving in with him would be another wonderful bonus._ Oliver thought. Elio went on and added that Oliver could finally have his own nest.

“You heard me. Marry me and be my forever, Oliver.”

 _You just rhymed_ but instead Oliver stammered, “but… Ellie and… your career and…”

_A handsome bachelor alpha with his career on its incline to a global recognition and fame suddenly deciding to saddle up with an older Omega with a teenager? What about the public image? Did he talk to Karim?_

“All the more reason, my beautiful alpha girl with a gorgeous you.”

Elio went on and knocked out all the doubts and hesitation Oliver was mulling over.

“whatever it takes. DNA test, statements, documents, court hearings, legal addendums and all that,” Elio knelt down in front him, “So, Oliver, would you spend the rest of your life with me?”

Elio dugged out a neatly folded silk fabric, placed it on his palm and peeled the corners. On top of the glistening cloth was two simple bands with the engraving. _Cor Cordium_.

“I was going to do it tonight at the restaurant but…”

“Yes.”

Elio’s eyebrows rose.

After clearing his throat, Oliver said “Yes.”

Elio hugged him in and laid a possessive kiss on Oliver’s lips.

“Oh, fuck. Here,” said Elio holding Oliver left hand and slid the ring on his finger, “a perfect fit,” Elio said proudly.

Oliver beamed before doing the same for Elio.

“We’ll have to remedy the blank years and fill our house with our children.”

“Children?”

“yes, give me a little one just like you. I don’t care what gender they are. Let’s have at least three more.”

“you alphas. The first thing comes to mind after a marriage proposal is knocking their omega up,” a playful jab on Elio's side, “you’re fucking crazy,” said Oliver.

“Oh, yes, deliriously for you!” and Elio belt out an exclaim.

***

That was eight years ago.

Twenty years was yesterday, and yesterday was just earlier this morning, and morning seemed light years away. Nine months after the close friends and family ceremony, Oliver gave Elio an omega son, Olive, via NBAC (natural birth after c-section). Unlike Ellie, the pregnancy was smoother. Well, being a second pregnancy, Oliver knowing what to expect had something to do with it, he thought. Of course, having an alpha like Elio, Oliver was more stable and content as ever.

Ellie decided to opt out the grade advancement. She felt that getting into a year late to the school system was no shame, contrary to popular belief. Instead, she considered it as a period of proper send-off of her adopted parent, Jess. She named her MIDI-device after her, though her classmates teased her ‘corny’ and ‘ancient.’ No, she hasn’t decided what she wants to become. As Samuel and Annella did, Oliver and Elio trusted her to find her own way. They were just there to aid and be a paddle and a little hoist-up if she’d ever need them.

Elio and Oliver were lying, entwined in each other’s arms, diagonally on their pushed together two extended-twin beds. It was something Oliver insisted. Although he said, it’s easier to launder sheets. But Elio knew it was homage to their first summer together.

Coming Thursday, Oliver would be leaving to Athens, Greece to join with Bethany Hughes and Marie Barde on the joint excavation of newly found archeological site. Elio said that he’d be spending hot summer with Oliver where he could see Oliver’s magnificent blue eyes being reflected in the ocean. Mediterranean blue sea.

The electric whirring sound of the engine amplified through the open window. Air compressor sound of door opening and closing. They heard Ellie say goodbyes to her friends. There was a metal clack at the front door after a sing-songy melody of smart home lock. Moments after, Oliver and Elio heard their daughter from downstairs.

“Mama? Papa? Are you guys home?”

Running footsteps.

“Hey---, Olive! How was school? How did your presentation go?” said Ellie.

“Olivier Samuel Joshua Finnegan Perlman! Papa let you play the games, didn’t he? What did Mama say about all plays?”

“I was bored waiting for you to come home,” said Olive.

Oliver and Elio scooted over to the center of the bed as the muffled thumps echoed the house.

The bedroom door opened. Two children came over and gave a peck to their parents before lying down next to them. Ellie on Elio’s side. Olive on Oliver’s side.

“I love this, Oliver,” said Elio.

“What? You mean _us_?” said Oliver purring.

“Everything.”

.

| | | end segment | | |

[A snapshot of Pr. Oliver in Greece](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17171444/chapters/40489985)

(: this was added later on, if you are interested click the link to get a bit more of this A/B/O verse. ;D) **  
**

*-*-*-*-*

**|||Oliver’s heat (a.k.a. ElliOllie’s first heat together)|||**

Elio walked to the local delicatessen/ butcher as he did for the past couple of months. Oliver always swung by here and grabbed a late bite-to-eat before he’d go pick up Mini at three in the afternoon.

From outside the shop, Elio found Oliver sitting in one of the tables. His golden locks looked glowy than usual.

“uft, get a grip,” the hazel eyes muttered under his breath.

Oliver ordered his usual. But he was only able to unwrap then wrap it back up. The house roast beef seemed… too bloody. He grimace minutely, sipping at the water. Another flinch. The temperature of water wasn’t right. A controlled sigh.

“God, you smell like heaven,” a familiar voice cooed behind him, rumbling deep with more than enough breathiness. Elio sounded like he would fog up the whole pane of glass.

After a quick peck on the lips, Elio sat down diagonally from Oliver, knees touching.

Oliver still couldn’t believe he was able to do this in public. It still felt so surreal.

“you alright?” asked Elio affectionately, “you look a bit...,” cupping Oliver’s jaw.

Oliver quickly mumbled something that he was okay as Elio’s palm brushed down his shoulder and upper arm.

Naturally, and unconsciously, Elio was gently thumbing his pad, drawing small circles on the flesh between Oliver’s thumb and the index finger. Oliver couldn’t help but feeling soothed and let out a feverish sigh through his nose. Ever since Elio acclimated here in New York, his top note changed from light summer peach to that of muskmelon. Still sweet but not as light, accentuating his natural musk. Oliver loved it.

Elio leaned in slightly, “if you don’t stop,” in a hushed but a deliberate tease, “I might have to rut here just to fend off other Alphas in this place.”

Oliver’s neck and cheeks flushed bright red-pink, realizing he was purring and ducked his head, “Elio, I…”

Elio shook his head once as in ‘it’s okay, no big deal’ with a faint smile, “just kiss me,” he whispered.

A blink.

Then, Oliver circled his chin away, towards his other shoulder and gently tilted his head, exposing his neck to Elio.

Elio’s breath hitched, watching Oliver’s chest rise and fall rhythmically, waiting and submitting.

He leaned forward without much movement. Oliver felt a warm exhale tickling on his exposed neck. The alpha opened his lips with the look towards the room.

Though they were side-glances and the pretend ‘I was not at all paying attention’ looks, Elio had the attention of the entire alphas in the place. Elio’s nose crinkled as the maroon circles thickened.

With a broad stroke of his tongue, he licked Oliver’s neck slowly before gently capturing Oliver’s earlobe between his teeth. A territorial display. A bit too intimate, too luxuriated for a public setting such as this. After every alpha in the room got the message, Elio closed his eyes and placed his lips on Oliver’s earlobe before sucking it lose gently. Then, Elio laid an open-mouth kiss on Oliver’s gorgeous collar bone, his palm brushing in a big stroke of seven, across and down the Oliver back slowly, with intentional-tender rhythmic thrums with his fingertips. A finishing touch, per se. The warm sensation of Elio’s palm against his back, Oliver could only shudder.

Elio straightened himself with a mischievous smile on his lips. Oliver fell for it. Elio meant for it to happen. To test the water, to show how compatible Oliver was to him, in the public.

“Could Juan and Sue-?” Elio meant Jess’s parents.

“Yeah,” answered Oliver, half exasperated still in daze, before Elio even had a chance to finish his question.

They picked up Mini from school. She babbled on about how her day was; showing her drawings, repeating the things she had learned.

When Mini heard the news that she will be staying with her grandparents for few days, she was ecstatic. Juan and Sue were so happy to have her over. Mini loved their cats; her favorite was called Custard (because of his lemon coat). Oliver thanked them again before Mini walked into their house without looking back.

To Oliver’s surprise, the rhythm between them did not speed up after dropping off Mini. It was comfortable and calm, mostly happy.

They arrived at Elio’s condo. Spacious but fitting to Elio’s good taste.

As a testament of Oliver’s impression of Elio being an old soul, the practice room has a pile of composition sheets, a grand piano.

He felt a warm palm pressed against his back, between his shoulder blade. Oliver closed his eyes and leaned into the touch.

“fuckkk---,” Elio said it as he exhaled, “you smell divine.”

Elio’s warm hand ran up Oliver's back, brushed the nape of his neck, fingers massaging the tuft of lock just above.

.

“Elio… I don’t… not since that summer-”

Elio soothed Oliver tenderly.

“All these years?” the dark curls whispered. Another confirmation that Oliver imprinted on him. Elio understood why the blond's late spouse was not interested in him _that way_ as Oliver put it.

Oliver moaned out a muffled pitch.

“What did I do to deserve you?”

Oliver’s lips parted and an audible exhale gaped out by Elio’s gentling. The blond didn’t know how touch-starved he was. As if no time had passed, Elio remembered everything; exactly where and how to touch, to caress.

Elio continued soft words into his ears, mixture of French and Italian. How he is going to make him feel, how he is going to make him want him, How he is going to make him plea, how he is going to make love to him, how much he was going to show Oliver that he always belonged to him.

Oliver was visibly trembling. He was trying to undo the buttons of Elio’s shirt. The blue eyes getting heavily tinged with desire.

“(I’m not going anywhere),” Elio whispered gentling Oliver.

The dark curls were brushing against Oliver’s temple as Elio’s hand found his way under Oliver’s t-shirt, laying a kiss each time Oliver undid the hazel eye’s shirt.

Oliver possessively ran his palms from Elio’s pectoral up the shoulder making his open shirt fall away, he drew in a sharp inhale. To Oliver’s surprise, Elio filled out quite well in his frame. Six-foot-tall, long, lean, defined muscles of a dazzling ectomorph. A glinting star of David just under the dip of his gorgeous throat. Oliver kissed it gently. Elio inclined his head, breathing heavy, finally tugged Oliver’s shirt over.

"off, and off, and off," Elio whispered through his almost-gritted teeth with a sinful lust in his hazel eyes.

.

Oliver gasped at how well hung he was. No, this wasn’t the first time he saw Elio this way but… Oliver’s breath wouldn’t stop hitching.

A twitch curl on Elio’s lips.

Elio took his time bringing their rhythm in sync.

Soon his two fingers were deep inside Oliver’s moist velvet warmth as he licked and open mouth kissed Oliver where he desperately wanted to put his bite marks on.

Oliver didn’t forget how to shlick Elio. He ran his softly clenched hand along the length of Elio’s shaft with his finger stroking a slow beat, pressing his thumb up the slit. Hearts pounding against the rib cage, falling back into their learned pleasures was amazingly easy.

“(tell me what you want), Elio--” whispered with a low growl.

“…I want you inside me,” Oliver moaned out his words as he exhaled.

“uh huh-, (you forgot the magic word).”

“please---, Oliver---,” Oliver pleaded.

*

After almost five days of hazed heat, Oliver woke up and found his old blue billowy hanging next to his washed khaki.

Elio walked in to check in on him.

“Hey… you’re up,” Elio smiled admiring him, holding a large coffee mug; a thumb at the rim and other three fingers at the bottom, his upper back slightly hunched. Then he padded to the bed and sat next to Oliver, “how are you?”

Oliver became so self-conscious and waved Elio away, “morning breath.”

Elio just laughed at that placing his mug at the night stand.

“rest of the clothes are in the dryer. Would you like some breakfast?”

At Oliver’s look, Elio just let out huff like laughs, “they deliver.”

“Was I terrible?”

“No, you were perfect,” then Eilo’s trademark goofy face came on, “all clingy and wouldn’t let me go, geez talk about no rest,” Elio teased. Oliver shoved his face away from him.

“hey~!” said Elio, a smile on his face, “what do you remember?”

Olive sat upright leaning against the head board and trying to brush away the sleep, palming his face.

“bits and pieces,” slowly closing and opening his eye lids, “you whispering a poem. Or was I dreaming?”

Elio smiled sending his cheek muscle towards his brilliantly chiseled cheek bones, “no, you weren’t dreaming that.”

The curly hair told him that Oliver became listless and the poem seemed to work.

“Can I hear it again?” the blond asked quietly.

.

 _I like for you to be still_  
_It is as though you are absent_  
_And you hear me from far away_  
_And my voice does not touch you_  
_It seems as though your eyes had flown away_  
_And it seems that a kiss had sealed your mouth_  
_As all things are filled with my soul_  
_You emerge from the things_  
_Filled with my soul_  
_You are like my soul_  
_A butterfly of dream_  
_And you are like the word: Melancholy_

_I like for you to be still_  
_And you seem far away_  
_It sounds as though you are lamenting_  
_A butterfly cooing like a dove_  
_And you hear me from far away_  
_And my voice does not reach you_  
_Let me come to be still in your silence_  
_And let me talk to you with your silence_  
_That is bright as a lamp_  
_Simple, as a ring_  
_You are like the night_  
_With its stillness and constellations_  
_Your silence is that of a star_  
_As remote and candid_

_I like for you to be still_  
_It is as though you are absent_  
_Distant and full of sorrow_  
_So you would've died_  
_One word then, One smile is enough_  
_And I'm happy;_  
_Happy that it's not true_

.

Oliver wanted to fall asleep again with Elio’s soothing voice filled with affection and adoration. He rubbed at the bottom of shirt sleeve with his finger tips, “you still have this…”

Elio hummed, “it stopped smelling like you long time ago but I think you could remedy that.”

He then asked whether Oliver’d want to take a shower together. A thing that they never did. Oliver blinked a couple of times before agreeing with a nod.

*

“What else did we talk about?”

“About Mini, mostly.”

“What did I say?”

“How you found out you were with a child and how long it took. Mini was three-weeks overdue. You said something about alpha dictating their terms before even born.”

“Oh, god---”

“(light chuckle, kissing Oliver right under his jaw) you were so easy. Heat haze made you drop all your layers and well-constructed ‘me-so-proper-and-serious.’ Ow, ow, okay, okay. You told me why Ellis’ pet name is Mini.”

“(long happy sigh) It was Jess who called it though doctors said that I was built for natural birth. But she put her foot down for c-section. When I first held Ellis, she had her eyes open with a headful of hair. Your eyes, your locks.”

“mini-me, (snort), a bit too oldie as a pop-culture reference, don’t you think? Ow, ow, ow, ok, ok, I’ll stop.”

*

Being on the other side of the heat, completely sated, Oliver found himself back in that hotel balcony. They goofed around like two teenagers. Elio didn’t mind. By the usual standards given to us by the society, he was too old for these shenanigans but… Oliver loved it. They wrestled who gets to lather who first. Then the two ended up in each other’s embrace, Elio rinsing Oliver's hair while the blond kissed the hazel eye's neck. When Elio was done, he gave the blue eyes a playful peck on the lips before circling around to get himself rinsed off.

Elio updated Oliver of how Mini has been doing. He handed the blond his foldable unit. There was a video recording of Elio and Mini video chat. Oliver glanced up at Elio’s back while he was making some scrambled. The recording was dated a couple of weeks back; before Mini’s little fiasco. The blond pressed play. Mini was showing him the notes she learned to play on the piano, drawings, etc.

/“ _Elio_?”/

/“hmm?”/

/“ _can you keep a secret_?”/ She said it in a hushed voice.

/“what is it?”/ Elio indulged her in the same manner.

/“ _one second_ ,”/ then there was a ruffling sound. Mini was moving to somewhere for some privacy.

/“Mini?”/

More static sound and distorted image.

/“ _Elio_?”/

/“I’m still here.”/

/“ _It’s a secret. Don’t tell mom_.”/

/“okay.”/

/“ _promise_?”/

/“(cross my heart).”/

/“ _I want you to be my papa_.”/

Mini then explained to him why; people telling her how much she looks like him, how much she loves watching Elio playing the piano for her and teaching her how to play the keys, how much she likes seeing Oliver happy whenever they are together.

/“ _Mama sounds like Custard when he’s thinking about you_ ,”/ Custard is one of the Patricks’ cat. Although she didn’t know much about Omegan’s involuntary purr, she definitely noticed the sound.

“Whooooa---, you’re not supposed to…” Elio noticed and took his foldable unit from his grasp. Oliver protested but Elio tucked it away in one of his drawers.

“More coffee?”

Oliver waved his hand just above his cup, “don’t try to change the subject.”

“Well, I promised her that I’d keep her secret so,” he walked across the kitchen and pulled out a giant glass pitcher. Oliver quipped about how on earth he would not forget his phone if Elio put it in the kitchen drawer.

“Not gonna work,” said Elio then he filled a tall glass with its content.

“Oh, god… is that?” Oliver visibly gasped.

“mm hm,” answered Elio with a wide smile, “I know it’s not Mafalda’s but I saw some fresh ones from the co-op store the other day…”

Oliver took the glass filled to the rim with thick apricot juice, paused for a moment or two, and brought the glass to his lips. The scene Elio so vividly remembered played in front of him, just as he relived it in his dreams.

Oliver downed the juice one gulp at a time without a break, tilting his head as he tilted the glass up. Then, as Elio wished to see, Oliver smacked his lips. Then, the blond pulled in both of his lips and licked the remaining juice from his lips. Oliver was having a moment with now an empty tall glass, a swivel of his wrist in mid-air. Then, another smack of his lips.

Elio standing with the pitcher still in his hand, “and?”

“(thank you).”

“Yes!!!!” Elio pumped his fist in the mid-air and did some brief victory dance moves, “want some more?”

“Yes, please.”

“I almost flayed my finger while pitting the seeds but-,” said Elio as he took hold of Oliver’s hand holding empty glass and pouring more apricot juice, “I’m glad you like it.”

*

Knowing Oliver’s post-heat insecurity was kicking in, Elio explained Oliver being asleep majority of the last two days was how he was able to go out and got some fresh fruits himself. He then asked whether Oliver’d like for them to have Mini this weekend. To Elio’s surprise, Oliver said he wanted to spend his lucid post-heat with Elio.

“I’m a bad parent, aren’t I?” Oliver said with a little frown.

Elio just shook his head and laid a kiss on Oliver’s temple.

*

Upon Oliver’s request, Elio sat in front of the keys and played some soothing classics.

“Only that one is mine,” Elio tipped his chin to the upright piano, “1915,” he added carrying on playing the keys, Clair de Lune.

“It was given to me by one of my late mentors.”

Elio said, “it is super tuned,” in a very giddy voice, not forgetting to grumble about it costing him fortune to ship it over here.

“It’s probably the most expensive thing I own,” Elio chuckled.

Then, he went on and said the grand piano was sponsored. Now the tune progressed to: the man I love.

“These are usually upwards of 100K,” added Elio.

“I bet.”

A comfortable silence fell between them. Gershwin's composition played by Elio's hands was different from that of the Ella Fitzgerald's.

“Elio--.”

“mmhm---?”

“How come I don’t have-,” the blond mumbled.

“I wasn’t going to bond with you during your haze,” said Elio nonchalantly, “I wanted your complete lucid consent. Hence, no bite marks.”

An unusual alpha to an unusual omega.

“Did I---?”

“yes,” answered Elio without missing a beat, “you didn’t see it while we were in the shower?”

As if he was reading Oliver’s mind, the familiar melody followed.

“oh----,” Oliver leaned back a little in mid-air with a sigh-ask exclaim.

Elio chuckled.

“You literally flirted with me with that,” said Oliver tossing one of sofa cushion.

Elio’s eyebrows shot up with a mischievous ‘I don’t know what you mean’ expression. This time he kept it as Bach wrote it, no Liszt, no Busoni. He watched Oliver the whole time since he was able to play it without looking at the keys.

As Elio let the last notes resonate through, Oliver opened his eyes and their gaze met.

“thought you wouldn’t notice,” Elio countered fondly, with a satisfied quirk on his lips.

“You know..., I tried to find it on youtube but it wasn’t the same.”

“same?”

“even the oldest one recorded had the pianist’s interpretation.”

“ah---.”

“I cursed and regretted not recording while I was there.”

“I have a session coming up for a new product launch. Would you like me to---.”

“Yes, of fucking course!”

*

**Late afternoon, two days later | Elio’s condo**

“Elio! Elio! Elio!” said Ellie with a giggle and laughter. Ellie hopped into Elio’s arms and he lifted her off the floor.

When Elio let her down in the hall way, she invited herself in and started exploring Elio’s condo.

Elio chinned up a bit to press his lips on Oliver’s.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

A tiny moment didn’t need much word.

“you okay?”

“me, okay.”

Then, there was a loud joyful exclaim, “you have a big piano,” giggled Mini.

Oliver shook his head gently, creases appearing at the edge of his eyes.

When two arrived at the well-sound-proofed practice room, Ellie was trying to pronounce the word, written in gold on the side, pressing her index finger on to the embossed letter.

“Fazioli,” Elio offered, placing his palm on Ellie’ hair.

Ellie did her best to mimic Elio’s Italian pronunciation looking a bit bewilderedly up at him. He let out a quiet huff through his nose and broke the word down into syllables. Ellie followed him with a twinkle in her eyes.

Oliver put her daybag down against the wall and stood watching them interact in front of the gleaning black grand. F-228. After Ellie happily felt she got the pronunciation right, she hopped over to the upright piano. Oliver gently chided Ellie and reminded her to walk softly.

“What’s this one?” asked Ellie looking for a word around the upright.

Elio told her, “his name is Sam.”

“Sam?” Ellie asked him tilting her head a little.

“After my papa.”

“Sam is your papa’s name?”

“Short for Samuel, mm hm.”

Ellie repeated those two words jollily over and over.

“I like Sam, he looks very nice,” said Ellie placing her hand on the fall board.

“You like this one better?”

“uh huh.”

She went on and explained why she likes the upright one.

“I like this,” she meant the varnished wood grain.

“Would you like to hear how he sounds?”

“Yes, please!” two crescent moons looked up at Elio with all teeth smile.

*

Elio played ragtime jazz version of Chopin she liked which put Mini in a great mood with unending laughter.

“Sam sounds different. I really, really like how he sounds.”

“You have romantics’ period blood running through you, Ellie.”

“Huh?”

“Has she ever heard the harpsichord?” Elio asked Oliver looking over towards the taller one.

Oliver shook his head.

“Well, young miss. I need to introduce you to one.”

When Oliver asked whether he should cook something, Elio turned his head towards Oliver’s direction and informed him that he made Bolognese and asked whether Oliver and Mini would like it with pasta or on Texas toast and fried eggs.

“Which one’s easier?” asked Oliver.

“About the same, just need to time it right for al dante if you two want pasta.”

“Then, let’s go with toast and eggs.”

Elio gave a nod and carried on explaining what it meant to Mini.

*

Mini requested a tour so Elio led her to a guest room.

Mini exclaimed at the pink plush whale and rainbow unicorn on the bed.

The bed had a duvet and a cover of a character Mini likes. Elio said this is her room and she quickly jumped on the bed tucking each toy under her arms, endlessly giggling.

“Elio.”

“Oh, hush. It’s not like that I bought the whole bedroom set.”

Oliver leaned in and gave him a peck.

“Give him one more from me, mama.”

“Yeah, one more, here!” said Elio mischievously turning his head, tapping his finger on his other cheek. When Oliver leaned into oblige, Elio turned his head and they kissed on the lips.

Elio reached up and held in Oliver close deepening his kiss, while giving a thumb-up to Mini with the other hand.

*

Three moved to the dining room with an added last-minute guest. Mini asked if she could sit with her new friends at the dinner table with her puppy eyes, Oliver told her to pick only one. After a fierce pondering, Mini picked the pink whale.

Oliver helped with the toast while Elio fried eggs. Mini sat the table. She even put a plate for her whale. When Elio teasingly asked Mini how he should prepare pink whale’s egg, she said, “most whales eat krills or are vegetarian, Elio. He’s just keeping me company.”

.

.

.

| | | | FIN | | | |

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Let me know if any of you are interested in sample music reference for this chapter. Or they can be found in music services app like youtube as well. *shrug*  
> -poem: Pablo Neruda, _I Like For You to Be Still_  
> .  
>  **[Special Thanks to]** : (alphabetical order as the King Arthur’s roundtable style may be a tad too dramatic LOL)  
> .  
> Angela1983,  
> Ash1011,  
> BarkingBard,  
> bellajoon98,  
> Cassie_Styles,  
> chainie_wen,  
> Chrisaki,  
> ElementalPea,  
> eli812lag,  
> emmasnow,  
> Erato_Muse,  
> Esme1997,  
> Fallingforyourfoolsgold,  
> Fictio,  
> fiercelytimmy,  
> FuriousBeatrice,  
> gasolineandgold,  
> gh0st_exe,  
> Glam_PT,  
> Glendaa,  
> icewine47,  
> JackyC3PO,  
> Kittenpurple,  
> krazysquare_xxiii,  
> lalalelley,  
> larrybabycakes,  
> littlemissthistle,  
> lizainthesky,  
> lost_evenings,  
> Macaron,  
> MissChalamet,  
> nhrc,  
> Nugskw,  
> ohma_cmbyn,  
> opie1205,  
> PerpetualStorm,  
> PrettyCharlie,  
> princessdunlap,  
> Professor_Black_Snape,  
> Prsart,  
> quima,  
> redenodersterben,  
> Shimmeringstarss,  
> Soubiani1309,  
> SteadyLittleSoldier,  
> ThatAj,  
> themanbeneaththehat,  
> trashfortimmy,  
> valexwest,  
> waydurie,  
> winter_rose13,  
> Wolfmoonlady51,  
> xrykxh  
> +  
> those who subscribed, all anon who sent kudos--!  
> .  
> Thank you ALL for reading, your interest, & your time!  
> and _do please_ stay on this wonderful collective experience of CMBYN fanfamdom. I’ll see you in zeros and ones.  
> *waving hands with a wide smile*  
> .  
>  **as of May 1st, 2019**  
>  if you'd like to drop a suggestion or have a question about any of my drabbles (i.e. clarification, background, etc.), please click [Request/Q&A page](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18658678) and post your comment. ;)


	15. Extra Sum'n Sum'n

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elio being such an alpha---, show off!!  
> .  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
> I just couldn't resist. *blushing*  
> .  
> >>no copy right infringement intended nor any claim in ownership of photo images used in this chapter.<<  
> [Do please note everything done in this chapter is for fanfic purposes, as I chose not to alter any detail in photo but collected them in a fashion to align with my fic storyline]  
> .


End file.
